


tied to the shifting ground

by brokendrums



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Pining, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-23 21:56:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 50,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4893793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokendrums/pseuds/brokendrums
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall finds his own family in London.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tied to the shifting ground

**Author's Note:**

> This is set very loosely from Christmas 2012 to some point in 2014. Please, for the sake of my sanity, look past the chronological liberties I've taken. I also feel a bit iffy about writing about non-famous people so not all members of the LIC are included or are mentioned relatively briefly. Usual rules apply -- don't discuss this fic with anyone appearing in it. Finally, I wanted to post this before I read Bressie's book so there are probably some inconsistanceies on his part within the fic.
> 
> This originally began life as a short (ha!) crack-y fill for this [prompt](http://brokendrums.livejournal.com/9883.html?thread=109211#t109211) on the Niall-fic-athon which asked for Niall taking part in a number of ridiculous initiations to get into the LIC, but the end result has obviously grown somewhat. It's been sitting in my WIP folder for enough time that even I am a little impatient on it, so have at it!
> 
> Thanks to [hindsight](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hindsight/pseuds/hindsight) for a read through many moons ago when this was a fifth of the size and also to [bisousniall!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisousniall/pseuds/bisousniall). Title is from Clearest Blue by chvrches. 
> 
> A pretty obvious warning -- this fic focuses on the LIC and therefore involves a lot of alcohol.

“I think to be part of our gang,” Laura says. Her voice is slightly slurred, words thick on her tongue. Niall’s hanging on the way she catches on the G. “You need a test.”

Eoghan’s nearly falling asleep beside her, but Bressie laughs at the other side of the table. Niall grins, cocks his head to the side. “A test?”

She nods, hair falling out of the makeshift bun she stuck up an hour ago. She’s just home from Australia, glowing and tan where the rain batters the windows outside. It’s the first time he’s been at her house and he can’t help but feeling that he’d only been invited to her little impromptu party because he’d been Christmas shopping with Bressie all day. They’d done Secret Santa and Niall had received a hastily wrapped boomerang that he’d spied stuck on Laura’s fridge when he’d first fixed himself a drink. 

Niall tries not to think about the smile Bressie had thrown him when he had unwrapped the extra large mug Niall had got for him when he wasn’t looking that afternoon. He was planning on giving it to him anyway, but it was nice to see his face light up across the crowded living room.

“Yeah,” she nods again, fringe flopping. “To make sure you’re good enough.”

Niall must pull a face because Bressie jumps in then, knocking Laura on the shoulder with a gentle hand. She giggles, tips into Eoghan beside her. Her entire face lights up when she does that, nose scrunching and eyes open. 

“Of course you’re good enough!” Bressie says to the table at large. His voice is loud enough to make Eoghan snuffle before he curls into Laura’s shoulder properly to go back to sleep. There’s still a glass cradled in his hand. 

“I don’t mean it like _that_.” Laura agrees, lifting a hand to sink into Eoghan’s messy hair. “Just a little game to prove yourself.”

Bressie’s face twists again. Laura sighs, turning her face towards him. “Aw come on, Bres. You never know with these boys, flying all over the world and becoming multi-billionaires--”

Niall snorts. He doesn’t think it’ll ever get that far. 

“Who knows if he’ll ever come back to us?” Laura asks. “We need to check his _loyalty_.” She reaches for her bottle again, drains it and sets into the middle where they’re building up. The rest of the party has long went home and for once, Niall doesn’t feel like he’s outstaying his welcome. He feels warm, all wrapped up in a scratchy Christmas jumper. He flies home for Christmas tomorrow and that aching longing to be there already has been dulled for the evening in their company, leeching out of his muscles as he starts to feel completely at ease. 

Bressie shrugs. “Ok then, play away.”

Laura looks happy with herself for a moment, her mouth turning up as she shares a smile with Bressie across the table. 

“What is it then?” Niall asks. There’s a ball of anticipation building in his gut as Laura looks him over. It’s scrutinising, her eyes going sharp as she leers across the table. Niall suddenly feels the years stretching between them, she makes him feel it the most -- even though Bressie’s the oldest. 

“I’m thinking. I might need to plan. A little initiation of sorts,” she says and scratches her hands in Eoghan’s hair. Eoghan groans, nuzzles into her shoulder more. It looks like the perfect pillow. Niall wouldn’t mind laying his head there. 

“Bedtime I think,” Bressie says, voice unusually sharp. Niall glances over at him, meets his gaze. 

No one says anything for a moment, Eoghan’s even breathing filling the room until Laura laughs brightly and stands up. “Gimme me a hand, yeah?” 

Niall goes to help but she’s directing the question at Bressie, who’s already reaching for her. They shuffle about, Eoghan groaning pathetically to leave him be. Laura giggles again and Bressie gives her a fond smile. Niall can feel himself fade out of their attention as they get Eoghan drowsily to his feet so he goes for his coat, dragging it on as Bressie and Laura handle Eoghan between them. 

“See you after Christmas?” Niall asks as they go towards the corridor. There’s something desperate in it, something needing them to reassure him that they can do this again. He’s had more fun tonight than he has in a while and if he’s being honest, he doesn’t want to leave. He could stay up until dawn with them. 

“Have a good one,” Bressie says, propping Eoghan up against his side as Laura lets go of him. “I’ll check in on you at home.”

“Get studying,” Laura grins, mouth wicked as she pulls him into a hug. She totters a bit, even though she’s swapped her heels for slippers hours ago. She smells of something sweet, like the shortbread they’d had earlier and lime, cutting sharp across it. It doesn’t smell of Christmas, something distinctly her amongst the pine of her hastily decorated tree and damp coats from the pouring rain outside.

Niall sinks into it, allows himself a moment to push his nose against the warm skin of her neck before he pulls away. He doesn’t want to push his luck or make it weird. They hardly really know each other even though she feels so familiar, her face embossed into the back of his eyelids.

Bressie’s got that fond look on his face over her shoulder, Eoghan curling into him and Niall isn’t sure who it’s aimed at. The thought that it could maybe be him warms him. Laura smiles, eyes softening as Niall goes for the door. He hasn’t got a car called yet and he has no clue how far it would be to walk but Laura reaches out and touches his shoulder. 

“Safe home,” she murmurs. “Merry Christmas.” 

Niall smiles and slips out her door, takes a breath in the simple little foyer outside in the hall. The door to the lift is cool under his hand and he grins against it as he waits for it to descend. Swallows down the jittery feelings in his belly and steps out into the night. 

*

Christmas at home is…

Well. 

Niall can’t really find the words to describe it properly.

It’s strange. It’s his house, his bed, his old worn sheets. It’s his dad at the bottom of the stairs asking him if he wants a few sausages on for breakfast. It’s the broken banister where he got his head stuck aged eight. But it’s a little bit off. His dad has to check if he still takes sugar in his tea, the clothes in his wardrobe are his dad’s old coats now, there’s a queue of girls lined up outside the front gate. 

He goes round to see his granny, takes in the shape of the old tree that she still puts up the exact same way each year, the painted light bulb glowing behind the empty crib by the front door, a crooked toilet-roll angel on the top. Fair City is on the telly but she’s got it in on mute so it’s just faces. She makes him tea and sets three ginger biscuits along the side of the plate and asks if he wants a sandwich made instead, if he’s had lunch, if he‘s hungry. She’s got a present for him in the backhall cupboard, all wrapped up in shiny paper and it makes his chest physically ache when he realises that it’s for his birthday and not Christmas, that he hasn’t seen her in all those months. 

She must’ve told some people he was home because the place is full of his cousins, half of them he hasn’t seen in years. A few of them are awestruck. They giggle and blush when he says hello, the younger ones trooping after him from the living room to the kitchen and back again, unabashedly asking him questions like they only know him from the TV. 

He bites his tongue on asking him why they’re here and what they want but stops himself because she’s their granny too. There’s an ease there -- between his cousins and his granny -- that Niall seems to have lost. She laughs at them and swats them out of her way. They make their own tea, kick their shoes off in the middle of the living room and change the channel. They make themselves at home where Niall feels, for once in his life, like a guest. 

His gran has to reach up to ruffle his hair and Niall’s sure she’s shrunk when he leans down to hug her. “Merry Christmas,” she tells him with a grin as she sees him out the door with his birthday present and three Cadbury selection boxes under his arm. There’s two faces pressed up against the living room glass and Niall waves at them as he steps off the ledge from the front door and heads off down the path. They stare back at him, unwaving and window fogging up from their breath until Niall has to look away. 

It only clicks into place after dinner, after he’s loaded the dishwasher and slipped out the front door without much of a goodbye. The air outside is crisp, a typical cold December evening and Niall goes to finally find the Breslin family house. 

It’s not that far -- actually it’s laughable how close they live and Niall’s only became friends with him in London. Bressie comes to the door, t-shirt straining over his chest and a slow grin on his face. 

“Home already getting the better of ya?” Bressie jokes when he sees him on his doorstep but his face falls when he realises he’s hit the nail on the head. “Aw, chief. What’s happened?”

“Nothing,” Niall says defensively, shoulders tense. Bressie frowns, reaching for the pile of coats at the end of the bannister and pulling on a hoodie. 

“A drink? Or a walk?” Bressie asks, pulling the front door behind him as he leaves the house. 

“I’ve the car,” Niall reminds him, raising his curled fist to the rental he had gotten once he’d landed. It’s the exact model of his own back in London but doesn’t feel _right_. There’s no golf clubs in the back, no fancy air freshener courtesy of Harry in the dash. His dad had stared at him when he pulled up in the drive but hadn't called him out on it. Most of the people he passes on the street stare too. It irks him, like they can see through the tinted windows and he suddenly longs for the anonymity of busy London where flash cars are normal. 

“Walk it is,” Bressie says easily and climbs into his car. “Your pick.”

Niall laughs, already feeling the tightness in his chest ease. Bressie doesn’t bat an eyelash at the car he’s got, just relaxes back in the heated chair and taps his finger against the door handle, just that bit off beat from the music on the radio. Niall doesn’t drive long, the dwindling light making his options for walks slim pickings. 

Bressie cracks up when Niall pulls into the carpark of the canal. 

“It’s the only place I can think of,” Niall tells him but he can’t fight the grin. The canal is the key make-out-spot around town these days, always had been if you could be bothered to walk that far. 

“Didn’t know you were the dogging type,” Bressie comments as he pulls the handle for the door and Niall’s too busy laughing to come up with a witty comeback. 

It’s cool, the wintery damp seeping through Niall’s coat. It’s an old one from school that he had found at the back of the cupboard under the stairs and smells a bit when he zips up the collar around his chin but it’s soft around his wrists when he pulls at the sleeves. 

They walk a bit in silence, Niall snuffling down further into the collar as they traipse down the winding path to the water. It’s still, a slate-grey smoothness that looks nearly solid. Niall would love to stand on it but he knows he’d be swallowed up as he sunk. It's cold but it's not that cold for it to turn to ice. 

There’s no one about, they’d be mad to. It’s drizzly, a sort of wet that just appears on Niall’s face. There’s no raindrops or wind, just a misty damp that clings to the apples of his cheeks and tufts of hair. Niall sometimes thinks it would just be better for it to just pour. 

“You looking forward to Christmas?” Bressie asks, tentatively breaking the ice. Niall huffs a breath into his coat, inhaling the stench of it again. He wriggles his face, trying to clear his mouth without pulling his hands out of his pockets. Bressie snorts again, reaching up to tug his collar down. It makes Niall’s heart pause -- just for a split second -- like he’d been reaching to do something else. And then it thumps on. Niall can feel it in his jaw. 

He’d never really thought of that before. Never really thought about _wanting_ Bressie to reach for him like that before. He turns his head, stares out across the stagnant water again. He can tell that Bressie’s watching him carefully from the corner of his eye and Niall sniffs, feeling like an idiot for dragging him all the way out here on Christmas Eve. He wonders if he had been busy, if he’s taking him away from any family traditions. He knows that he isn’t missing anything in his own house -- not now when him and Greg stopped going to Midnight-Mass-at-9pm and there isn’t a desperation about opening a present before bed. His dad’s probably already down at the pub, ham simmering on the stove at a barely there heat ready for the oven tomorrow. 

“Yeah,” Niall says, forcing a smile on his face even though he feels a bit wobbly. Everything has been tinged with a lingering disappointment since he’s been back and Niall can’t quite place where it’s stemming from. Like he’s grown up and moved on from all the excitement. He’s not sure if he’s outgrown Christmas or his home. “Dinner should be good. I can’t remember the last time I had a decent roast.”

Bressie scoffs, his hands shoved deep in his pockets so his shoulders jut out. He looks slightly triangular. “You haven’t had dinner ‘round Laura’s then.”

Niall shakes his head because he hasn’t, he’s hardly gotten to know her yet. He feels suddenly out of the loop. Like he’s been missing something all along. It’s a bit like jealousy flickering in his belly but he knows he has no right to be -- Laura has no reason to invite him to dinner. 

“She does a cracker roast potato. You need to come out with us some Saturday back in London. Nothing nicer than waking up to a joint in the oven,” Bressie tells him. Niall can hear how he’s keeping the topic light, can hear how it’s forced. It settles him that he now knows Bressie well enough that he can tell that. He’s sure that Bressie’s doing it to keep his mind off home but it’s not quite working. It’s just making him feel more adrift in London too. 

He clears his throat and takes the out that Bressie offers him, turning to grin up at him. “You know me. I never turn down a few pints.”

“Good lad.” Bressie laughs, his hand coming out to nudge Niall on the shoulder. “Right, c’mon.” Niall can see Bressie’s breath when he talks. “Keep walking. I’ll show you where I used to impress all the girls.”

Niall snorts and follows him, trying to keep up with Bressie’s quick pace. He likes this better, just listening as Bressie points out where he used to go for _walks_ with girls out of his class back when he was at school or how he nearly broke his ankle falling over the root of a tree. Niall finds it so strange that this was all happening basically on his doorstep, that they could’ve walked past each other and not even acknowledged that they were there. He’s half angry with his younger self -- like he should’ve known better. He can’t imagine Bressie not being in his life, even in some sort of periphery spot now. It might've been so much easier if he had known him all along. 

They reach a clearing and it’s just light enough still that Niall can see Bressie’s face when he turns to him, the light from the lamps lining the canal creeping over the towpath. 

“Used to come and play rugby here,” Bressie tells him. “When I was young and still a short arse. But I loved it. We’d have a ball and we’d all be in our school shirts and just let rip, y’know?”

Niall shrugs. He doesn’t -- he never played rugby at his school. He watches as Bressie laughs to himself, spinning in a circle to take in the clearing. 

“Ripped some shirts too, I’m sure,” Niall says and Bressie laughs. He looks like he’s lost in a memory when he turns to Niall, his face soft but the smile is all for Niall. 

“Course I did,” Bressie agrees. “I was fourteen. Any excuse to get my hands on a few of the lads my age. When I hit my growth spurt, they wouldn’t let me play in PE anymore. It only made me more determined to get on the team.”

Niall stares up at him, telling himself he didn’t imagine it. Bressie just laughs and reaches out to clap a hand on Niall’s shoulder. It feels massive and strong, heavy where his coat collar is caught. There’s a whip of cool air cresting past his neck. He shivers. 

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Bressie tells him suddenly and it’s such a sudden change in topic that Niall forgets all about what Bressie may or may not have just admitted to him. 

“What?” Niall asks automatically, fingers curling in the pockets of his coat. There’s a hole in the lining of one and he shoves his thumb through it, focusing on the feeling of the material going tight around the thickness of his knuckle. He draws it out slowly, the fabric tightening around the widest part of his thumb, just below the nail and then shoves it back in again to repeat. It catches on the skin of his hangnail that he’s bitten and lifted up while he waited for his tea at his granny’s. 

Bressie stares at him for a moment, his mouth slightly open like he’s about to say something and then thinks better of it. He licks his lips, half his face in shadow as it grows darker around them. 

“Just all of it,” Bressie says lightly. He shrugs, like he’s shaking off the words physically. “You are enjoying it. Aren’t you?”

Niall stares at him. Feels something cold creep into his belly at the insinuation. Of course he is. He doesn’t deserve to not be enjoying every moment of it. His mum keeps telling him how it's all a gift. He pulls his thumb sharply through his coat, curling his thumb into his palm as it stings.

“Come on,” Bressie says, turning his face into a grin and not waiting for Niall to reply. “I left in the middle of making the soup for tomorrow. My mam will have my head.”

Niall nods jerkily, following him back to the car. The streetlights are a bit glary after being in the dim light down by the canal and it takes Niall a moment to adjust his eyes, squinting as the lights above the console on the car flick on as they climb in. His feet are wet, dew and damp soaking into the fancy trainers he’s wearing. It makes him slip and slide over the pedals as he reverses out of the parking spot. 

He’s overthinking it. His mind rolling a mile a minute as he retraces the roads back towards Bressie’s house. He wants to ask him again but Bressie’s back to humming along to the radio -- a christmas song that Niall’s heard a thousand times on the radio this week. 

“Oh I can’t wait to see those faces,” Bressie sings under his breath, Chris Rea threatening to drown him out. Niall fights the urge to turn the radio down so he can hear him properly. “Driving home for Christmas.” Bressie beats his hand off his knee and laughs. “Ohh, yeah.”

Niall grins, glances over to see him. He hardly ever hears Bressie sing in person -- he’s heard him when he sticks his CD on in the car or ends up at one of his videos late one night on the tour bus after an hour of mindlessly trawling through Youtube but he’s yet to hear him on stage or in the corner of a smoky pub after last orders. 

Bressie breaks off to hum along to the lines he doesn’t know the lyrics to and Niall laughs softly as Bressie morphs the sounds so they vaguely match the end of each line. It's complete nonsense.

“This the Bressie version, yeah?” Niall asks, curling his fingers around the steering wheel. Bressie glances over at him, humming through his pink mouth. He looks warm now that they’re in the car, the cool of his cheeks flaring up pink as the warm air from Niall’s heating system hits him in the face. 

“Mmmmm,” Bressie hums louder and then grins, the song coming back to the chorus. “Top to toe in tailbacks!”

Niall laughs brightly and hates that they’re already pulling up to his house. The front landing light is on and Niall can see through the stained glass in the door right down the hall and into the kitchen. He imagines Bressie’s soup, half-made, still there in the pot and his mum tutting over it. 

“Merry Christmas, Niall,” Bressie says and Niall finally turns the radio down until it’s just humming in the background. “You know where I am if you still want to talk about it.”

Niall blinks. He’s always so pleasantly surprised that Bressie can just come out and say things like that. Niall feels like he needs to talk himself into being so open sometimes.

“Nah, I’m fine,” Niall says, glancing back at the house. Someone’s in the living room, their shadow at the window as they peer out. “You better go back in. Sorry for taking you away from your family.”

Bressie snorts. “You weren’t taking me away. You’re just as--”

Niall blinks up at him and Bressie smiles, his face opening up. He reaches out until his hand rests on Niall’s shoulder, his cool fingers sliding over his neck. Niall feels warm, the ice in his stomach finally melting. 

“Have a good one,” Bressie says quietly. 

“You too,” Niall mumbles. He thinks he should reach out too, pull him into a hug or something but Bressie pulls back, his cold hands suddenly absent on Niall’s skin. There’s a rush of cool air as Bressie gets out of the car and Niall waits until he’s disappeared through the front door before he pulls away. 

He keeps the radio off as he drives back home, the roads quiet as everyone’s already locked up in their houses. It’s so still. Streetlights a cool amber the entire way. 

His neck is still warm as he lets himself into his own house, the rest of his body finally warming up as the heat of the house envelopes him. The living room is dark except for the tree, red and green lights flashing over the stack of presents Niall had set there this morning. It feels nice to have left them there, now that he’s got proper money that he’s earned himself -- not some advance from overeager record companies -- money that’s officially his and doesn't need repaid back in harmonies and record sales. 

“Ah,” Bobby says from behind him, appearing in the doorway to the kitchen. “You’re home.”

Niall turns his head and feels a stab of guilt. He looks small there, the light behind him. He’s going grey and he looks swamped in the Christmas jumper he wore to work today. The name tag is still hanging off it, too big and round for the flimsy safety pin. Someone’s coloured in the O in his name as a big Christmas pud. “Thought you’d be in the pub.”

Bobby shakes his head and waits for Niall to shuck his coat and shoes in the hallway before he makes his way to the kitchen. Only Fools and Horses is on quiet on the telly there, the paper spread out across the dining room. 

“Thought I’d stay in and have a beer with you,” Bobby says over his shoulder, already going to sit back down in his chair. He lifts a pen and Niall wonders if he's doing the crossword or picking horses. “Had enough pushy gobshites at work all day. You’d think the world was ending just because Tesco is going to be closed for the day.” 

Niall smiles to himself, grabs two beers from the fridge and slides into the chair beside him. Maybe some things never change.

*

It’s a dreary morning. Grey skies spreading out across as far as he can see as he presses his head against the cool window of the passenger door. The van is noisy -- the radio blaring from the front, Liam and Louis bickering about something or other behind him, Harry playing something on his phone with the volume too high. Zayn’s seemingly asleep beside him, mouth open slightly so Niall can hear the rasp of his breath, barely a snore. They haven’t been lumped in the same car in months and Niall had forgotten how restricting it was. 

London traffic is abysmal as usual as they edge along into the city but Niall feels too hot, the heater in the car on full blast. It’s too dry, makes his throat scratch. They’re playing at the Brits soon and going on tour -- he can’t afford to be sick. He clicks the button for the window and it snicks open, judders down an inch to let in frigid cold air.

“Hey,” Zayn says, his voice slurred and Niall wonders if he’s still asleep. It had been terrifying the first time they'd roomed together and Niall realised that Zayn could sleep-talk with amazing lucidity. “Cold. Window.”

Niall smiles. Zayn works best in singular words, asleep or not. Niall does what he says though, slides the window back up again until he’s enveloped back into the dry heat of the central heating. 

Zayn doesn’t thank him. Just goes back to sleep. But Niall was hardly expecting him to. 

He sighs, swallowing around his catching throat. 

*

Niall can say it’s one of the more bizarre nights. The hall is brightly lit, full of a low hubbub of voices and rustle of paper. They’re probably the loudest table there, the women in the next section keep glaring at them, shaking their little paper games about as they wait for the next number. 

Niall looks down at his sheet, he’s only got the number 55 coloured, a big blob of yellow over it. He’s lost count of how many numbers he’s missed, the caller speeding through coloured pages and numbers. Laura appears back from the bar, her hands laden with drinks. She’s wearing a visor that Niall’s last seen on those Facebook pages a girl he vaguely remembers from school constantly liking things that _only nineties kids will remember_.

“Are you cheating?” she asks suddenly, catching him peering at her equally as blank sheet. Half of her face is turning a lurid pink from the lights shining through the peak in her hat. She passes him a bottle of beer. “This is very competitive Niall, how are you ever going to win a place in our hearts if you can’t win bingo?”

Greg laughs loudly opposite him, leaning back in his chair. It earns him a shush from the blue rinsers behind him and Greg erupts into another peal of giggles. He’s wearing a particularly garish jumper since it’s his birthday -- Laura had insisted. Beside him, Bressie is bent over his card, his dabber poised. He’s the only one still paying attention, his face a firm line. His card is mostly pink and Niall can see the way he’s got his lip caught in his teeth. 

“HOUSE!” someone across the room roars and Bressie slumps down in his chair. 

“Fuck sake,” he complains, throwing his dabber into the middle of the formica table. It bounces once and lands in Eoghan’s lap. He picks it up disinterestedly and throws it back into the middle of the table. “I’ll never win at this rate. Why did we come here when it’s so busy?”

Niall glances round. The place is packed but Niall’s not sure what they were expecting for a busy Saturday. It feels liberating to be a room where there’s very little people under age thirty and therefore, anyone remotely interested in getting a photo with him. He can sit and chat and laugh without the urge to keep glancing over his shoulder to see if anyone’s sneaking a look at him. It’s something he’s noticed that he does a lot now. That furtive paranoia coming naturally.

“Alright,” Laura announces. They’re still too loud, the rest of the room eerily quiet for the amount of people in it. There's clearly an unspoken rule about chitchat during game-time. “New rules.”

"Can we win our own prizes?" Eoghan asks, pouting moodily across the tables at Laura. "Even if we did win they won't even give us anything because they hate us."

“Winner gets a kiss,” Bressie suggests, already puckering his lips up. 

“Excellent idea,” Eoghan agrees, knocking a knuckle on the edge of the table. “Winner gets a kiss.” He grins over at Laura. “I’d get one anyway though, wouldn’t I?”

Laura ignores him, flashing him a smile when she think nobody's looking. Niall sees it though, see the way Eoghan's face lights up in response. Niall reaches for his glass again. 

"Rules are simple," Laura says. "Each number has to relate to Birthday Boy Greg. If you get it right, you win."

"What?" Niall asks, half choking as he swallows a mouthful of flat cider. There's a collection of glasses in front of him that have lost their owner. Niall's decided to finish them all up. "What sort of rules are they?"

Laura grins at him. "My rules. And Niall, you get a special rule."

“Oh, really?” Niall asks, fighting the urge to laugh. Laura looks stern when she takes charge like this, her hair pulled back from her face so he can see her faux frown. 

“Yes,” she says and Niall can see where she’s fighting a grin. “Niall, you have to win a Full House or else you’re not coming back to my _full house._ ” She breaks off into a fit of giggles and the rest of them snort at her.

“Terrible,” Bressie comments lightly, shaking his head as he shreds onto the old game sheets into little pieces in his big hands. He clears his throat, Laura still giggling into his shoulder. "Are we playing House Rules?"

Laura's face lights up, her ponytail swinging. "Of course!"

"And what are they?" Niall asks. “There’s lots of chat about housing floating about. We’re playing bingo not monopoly.” 

Laura smiles at him. "You'll just have to play along and find out."

He works out the basics quickly as everyone very deliberately starts drinking with their right hand. He vaguely remembers playing games like this before -- no first names, no pointing and no swearing. It normally works except they’re the biggest bunch of swearers around so Niall quickly catches grasp of most of the rules. 

"You didn't take your leprechaun off!" Laura says, the first time he lifts his glass to his mouth with his right hand. It feels heavier in this one, wrong like his wrist can’t hold the familiar weight. 

"What?" Niall splutters, letting the glass down with a thud. Some liquid sloshes over the edge and seeps into his gamecard. 

Laura snorts so hard Niall’s surprised she didn’t inhale half her drink. “Your leprechaun. You didn’t take him off. He’s sitting on the edge of your glass.”

“You don’t want him to fall,” Eoghan helps to explain. He watches Niall very seriously before miming taking an invisible person the size of a thumb tack off the lip of his glass. “So you set him down while you take a drink and then,” Eoghan mimes picking nothing up again and settling it gently along the edge of the glass. “You put him back again. He doesn’t like sitting on the table for too long. Thinks people’ll ignore him down there. Leprechauns are very sensitive about their height, don't you know?”

The rest of them dissolve into laughter as Niall gapes at them. “Ok,” he says and imitates Eoghan. 

“No, no!” Natalia squawks. “He’s already feel off.”

Eoghan pulls a face, stares at a spot of empty table at the base of Niall's glass. “Poor Paddy.”

“He’s still holding on,” Niall assures him. “Horan leprechauns have grips of steel.”

Niall feels himself flush as they all laugh brightly. Laura’s tucked herself into Bressie’s shoulder again and Niall can see the pink of her cheeks through where her hair is falling around in wisps. 

“Determined, Horan men, eh?” Greg guffaws. 

“Stamina of steds,” Niall agrees with him, his blush rising. Niall pretends to pick up his little invisible leprechaun off the side of the glass, just where the G of Guinness is fading from use.

“Niall, give it up. He’s already on the ground,” Bressie tells him. “Off to find your next pint.”

“What’s he done that for?” Niall finds himself asking before he catches himself on. “He’s grand on this one.” 

“Have to down it now,” Greg advises him. “So you can drink your next one. Can’t leave him lonely for too long. He’ll start to drink it.”

Niall shakes his head. He hasn’t talked this much shite at three o’clock in the afternoon in a long time. “My leprechaun wouldn’t do that. He’d want to _protect_ my pint.”

“Leprechauns have no loyalty,” Greg refutes. 

Niall turns his glare on to him. “Don’t question a Horan’s loyalty. I’ll let you off this time because it’s your birthday.”

“Don’t make us chant,” Eoghan warns completely ignoring how Laura’s nearly fell off her chair laughing.

“You’re not going to chant,” Niall tells him with a sorry shake of his head. He knows they won’t. They’ll get chucked out for sure and none of them have even won a penny yet. The caller is starting up a new game but none of them have paid any attention so far so he doesn’t suppose they’ll play this game either.

“Niall,” Bressie starts quietly. “Niall, Niall, _Niall_.”

“ _Ssssssh_ ” comes a hiss from the table to the right. Niall starts to laugh uncontrollably but Bressie doesn’t stop, just keeps saying his name in a loud whisper until Niall lifts his glass and gulps down the rest of it. 

He drains it to a cheer from the table and then under a directed glare from Laura holds the glass over his head. He can feel a few final drops of cider rain down on the crown of his head but everyone’s laughing again and Niall can’t help but join in. 

“Perfect,” Greg says, patting him on the shoulder. “Just in time for your round, yeah?”

Niall snorts but agrees with him and gets to his feet. 

“Don’t forget your leprechauns!” he can hear Eoghan yell after him. 

He uses the time at the bar to take a breath -- a breather. He can feel himself _falling_. He’s starting to look forward to these days out of all the rest of them and he wants to savour it, burn it all to the harddrives of his mind so it’ll never blur into just a faded memory. 

Sometimes he can’t believe he’s so _lucky_.

“Twenty-seven-forty,” the barman says, hand already out. 

Niall grins at him, handing him over his debit card. “Don’t forget the leprechauns!”

The barman narrows his eyes, reaching behind the till for the chip and pin machine. Niall laughs to himself, half giddy. 

“The age you lost your virginity,” Laura says, grin on her face as Niall slides back into his seat. He dishes out the drinks to nods of the heads and quick smiles but everyone seems engrossed in their game now. Niall scrambles for a marker. 

“Bingo,” Greg says curtly a few moments later. Like this is common knowledge. 

Niall glances down to the last number he’s dabbed and barks out a laugh. “Thirteen? Shit.”

Eoghan looks unfazed. “I’m sure Greg was a catch in school. Had all the girls falling after you, didn't you?”

“Why,” Greg asks, his mouth cracking into a smile. He shrugs a bit bashfully, like he’s genuinely embarrassed. Natalia reaches over to ruffle at the hair beside his ear. “What age were you?”

Niall should’ve expected it. He feels a bit too open, exposed sitting around the table with them. He’s never been more aware of how they’re in public -- even if no one’s paying any attention to them from the surrounding tables. 

He hates this, like when he’s forced to play Never Have I Ever on the tour bus. Except, now, none of the people around the table know all his dirty secrets and can’t force him to come clean to a table full of crew and support acts. 

“He hasn’t,” Eoghan says easily, his grin cheeky. “Poor lad hasn’t had the chance.”

Niall snorts, along with the rest of them. His antics on tour have been a topic of speculation before. 

“Niall,” Eoghan says seriously, reaching across to grip at his hand. He gets neon pink marker all up his wrist for the trouble. “It’s alright. You can confide in us.”

“Eoghan’s a virgin too,” Bressie agrees. He lowers his voice like it’s a secret. “He likes to think if he can sit on his hand long enough it counts.”

“Too pure for this world,” Laura announces over Eoghan’s barking laugh. “Niall would never do such a thing. His hands are for praying and holding little old ladies’ hands at zebra crossings.”

“Between the sticks, eighty-six!” the caller’s voice crackles over his microphone. 

Greg snorts. “The age of Niall’s partner when he lost his virginity!”

“BINGO!”

*

“Saint Paddy's, Saint Arthur's and oul Saint Nick,” Niall states. Bressie lets out a bark of laughter. Niall ignores it. “A pint of Guinness is reserved for toasting a devine higher power. You can't just be drinking it everyday.”

Bressie raises one eyebrow and then takes a sup of Guinness as if to prove a point.

“Plus.” Niall shrugs off his smug look. “You can't get a decent pint outside Ireland.”

“Bullshit,” Bressie finally says and taps his pint glass against the table to prove another point. The head is perfectly poured. Niall is slightly impressed -- he was pouring from a tin after all. “There's plenty of Irish pulling pints in London.”

Niall brushes him off and Bressie smiles fondly. Niall ignores the tingle he feels at knowing it's just for him. He’s been allowing himself to feel like this more since they’ve came back to London. He keeps finding himself calling round in the hopes they're doing something that evening, angling for an invite to the next big night.

“Just don’t want to rip the piss out of it,” Niall says sagely and leans back into the seat. Bressie laughs again and takes another drink. When he takes the glass away he’s got a white foamy moustache. Niall could lick it off. Well. He couldn’t, not really. But he wishes he could. 

Bressie does it himself, tongue pink and wet as it clips along his top lip. 

“It’s alright,” Bressie reassures him with a grin. “You can just admit that you don’t like it.”

“You woulda thought I’d gotten used to it by now, every fucker out there thinks I love the stuff.” Niall huffs. “And it’s absolutely rotten the next day,” Niall complains. 

Bressie shrugs. “Secret’s safe with me.” his mouth twists in a grin that makes Niall nervous. 

“Oh yeah?” Niall asks.

“Yeah.” Bressie tries to keep a secret. He doesn’t blurt it out like gossip. Niall knows that. He’s seen him at some of his most vulnerable moments, back in the early days. “I’ll not tell anyone that you’re a traitor to your own country. Next you’ll be wearing England shirts and eating your spuds strained through a sieve. Oh, wait.”

The rest of Bressie’s insult is muffled by Niall’s hand slapping over his mouth. He tackles him as best as he can but it feels like he’s ramming into a brick wall. Bressie’s still fucking built like a powerhouse even though he doesn’t play rugby anymore. 

It winds him a little, breath escaping him like a gush and he has to suck in more to help him laugh properly. Bressie smells like grass and Guinness and something oceany that’s came out of a bottle. He can nearly see him spraying it on in his bathroom.

“Now, now,” Bressie cackles when Niall drags his hand away from his face. He can feel the faint scrape of stubble against his palm, the way his lips are wet and breath damp. Niall’s latched onto his side still, struggling to get a good grip on his hip with his own knee and he catches a glimpse of Bressie‘s sharp eye before he‘s disorientated briefly by the speed at which Bressie collapses into the sofa cushions.

“You fucker,” Niall growls. One of his legs is trapped between Bressie’s back and the sofa and the other is hitched up over his belly. Bressie wraps a hand around his calf, his fingers feel huge. Niall lets out a breath but it sounds like a gasp, like he’s being squashed by Bressie’s heft of a shoulder. 

“Get off, you beast,” Niall cries but it’s muffled by Bressie’s cardigan. He twists, neck straining just so he can breathe properly. “You have an unfair advantage.”

Bressie laughs, hand skimming up Niall’s leg. It’s distracting, Niall can’t work out what he’s meant to be doing, how he can untangle himself from Bressie’s grip. Bressie’s hand travels higher and it only makes Niall breathe in shallowly, any longer and Niall’ll be pressing a stiffy against Bressie’s hip. 

“Come on,” Niall says, voice tight. Bressie turns his head slightly to get a better look at him, hand stilling just below the joint of his knee. Niall stares at him, feels his jaw drop a bit. 

“You surrendering?” he asks and Niall shakes his head immediately. 

“No,” he says stubbornly. “Horan’s don’t surrender.”

Bressie grins and Niall can see the shape of his teeth they’re pressed so close. He sucks in another breath and tries not to incline his head closer to him. Bressie’s thumb presses into the sinew of his knee and it makes him jump, twisting away from him. 

“Fuck off,” Niall mutters breathless and Bressie laughs again. 

“Ok,” he says, hand lifting off Niall’s leg. “How about a forfeit then?” 

“A forfeit?” Niall asks quietly because his other foot, the one trapped behind the small of Bressie’s back is starting to go numb. He doesn’t want to give up so easily but he’d quite like to feel his toes after this.

Bressie nods. 

“What is it?” Niall asks and Bressie’s mouth turns up. 

“Now,” he says and Niall knows it can’t ever be as easy as that. “I can’t tell you what it is before you agree, can I?” 

Niall huffs, tips his head into Bressie’s shoulder but it’s all for show, he’s going to agree to it anyway. 

“Go on then, yes I agree.” Niall fixes a glare on him when he lifts his head up and is rewarded with the way Bressie looks more than gleeful. 

“Next time anyone buys you a pint of the black stuff,” Bressie pauses for effect. “You have to pour it over your head.”

“Aw what?” Niall splutters. “I’ll look like a knob.”

“Sort of the point,” Bressie agrees and finally leans forward. Niall flops back, lifting his leg out from behind him. It’s starting to cramp up, pins and needles making him wince. Bressie catches him and his face instantly drops. “Fuck, was that your bad knee? Why the fuck didn’t you say?” 

Niall shrugs. He doesn’t like making a fuss. “It’s fine.”

“Niall, Jesus,” Bressie complains and holds out a hand as if to touch but Niall shakes him off. “Will you just go for the operation already?” Bressie asks him. Niall ignores him, he’s got dodging questions about his knee down to an art and presses his foot against the hard floor. Pain judders up muscle but after a few moments feeling starts to come back to his legs, pins and needles dissipating away. 

“See,” Niall says brightly, standing up shakily and holding his hands out in a ta-da motion. “All better.”

Bressie half scowls at him. “I hope someone buys you two pints now.”

Niall laughs and reaches for their drinks. He shifts his weight. “I’ll put out a tweet that says I hate the stuff, no one will buy me it again.”

Bressie tugs him down onto the sofa again, leaving his hand around Niall’s shoulder. Niall leans back into it gratefully. He could turn his head now and press his nose into his chest. He could, but he doesn’t.

Bressie takes a breath, Niall can feel his chest expand with it. His stomach flips, in case Bressie says something more about his knee. He wants to forget about it but there’s something else making him feel warm, that protectiveness in his voice that makes Niall tolerate him poking and prodding at Niall’s insecurities when he’d just get angry if it came from somewhere else. 

“Dig your own grave,” Bressie warns quietly instead and Niall covers his disappointment with a bubble of laughter. 

*

Niall grips Laura’s hand. He’s getting a bit sweaty and he would feel self conscious but Laura’s brought out his competitive side and he refuses to let her win. 

Bressie laughs, loud and raucous beside them and it’s distracting for a moment, Niall’s eyes flicking up to meet his where he’s sitting slumped against the wooden fence. 

They’re all crowded around a picnic table in the beer garden of Bressie’s new haunt. The sun has just set but they’ve been here all day -- an aborted attempt at getting dinner somewhere fancy that ended up how most of their Sunday’s have ended up lately -- finding a pub that’s got a table big enough for them all _and_ that’s showing some of the Sunday hurling. They’d caught the end, just in time to see Galway thrash Wicklow. Laura had pouted and then ordered them a round of shots to commiserate and they’d tumbled out into the sun soaked beer garden. 

It had been Laura’s idea to start the arm-wrestling. 

“If you win we’ll let you stay,” she had laughed, flexing her fingers and making a show of shrugging off her leather jacket. Niall had laughed and matched her, bringing his elbow up in front of her and shoving Greg off the side of the picnic bench to give himself more room.

“These games are getting more and more frequent,” Niall had said, voice nearly trembling with excited nerves. Laura had just grinned and said it was to make sure he was _worthy._

He knows it’s just a game that she’s playing -- making Niall run through these series of random initiation tests -- but he can’t help how he feels the need to prove himself, to meet her expectations. It’s such a specific feeling of relief when he succeeds -- her smile his reward. It feels like he’s chasing it. 

Laura is ridiculously strong for how she looks, her fingers a firm grip. She crows with delight as Niall’s knuckles finally brush the flaking wood of the table and then she has his whole hand pressed to it. 

“Ah,” Bressie says excitedly. Natalia is off to the side laughing her head off too. Niall feels his face flush and he ducks his head, aims his smile at the ash tray instead. 

Laura’s looking at him fondly when he glances up again, the others rallying around Greg to order another round. “Best of three?” she asks, wiggling her fingers at him.

Niall smiles, feels something grow inside his chest. 

“Don’t know if he can take another beating,” Bressie says, mouth wet with the last of his pint. He closes his eyes for a moment before letting out a loud burp. Laura snorts and smacks at his chest with her hand, Niall notes how small it looks against his collarbone. “Got a reputation to protect, doesn’t he?”

Niall smiles at him and holds his hand up again. Laura laughs and reaches for it, clasping their hands together. Her hand is soft and warm, fits perfectly in his fingers. Niall wishes he could hold it normally, not in some ruse of a game. 

Her nails are perfectly manicured a dark purple and it glints in the overheat heater lights, shiny and lacquered. She’s chipped one, a flake of it giving away to just pale pink skin underneath her nail. 

“Three,” Niall counts her in. Laura grins at him, eyes half shuttering. The others come back then, somebody shouting about how this is the longest arm-wrestle match they’ve had to sit through. Niall wants to disagree, he wants it to go on forever. A pint gets set in front of him, too close to his elbow if he’s really going to go for it. Bressie doesn’t move it for him and Laura just quirks her eyebrow. “Two --”

She starts pushing before he even gets to One and Niall knows she’s cheating but doesn’t call her out on it, just laughs -- a bubble of it fizzing out of his mouth as she slams his hand down on the table again. 

“Weak!” Natalia cries and then there’s a tray of shots being slid into the clearing they had made on the table. “Three for the loser!” 

Laura yells out in agreement and Niall shakes his head as they’re presented to him, all lined up in a little row. They’re by far the loudest group in the bar, a few other patrons turning to look at him. It’s a Sunday, they should be turning in early but Niall’s always thought Sunday’s were the best days for a session. He’s supposed to be going to some photoshoot tomorrow and he’s not done enough of them hungover yet to see how well he can cope with them but Bressie is reaching forward, clapping his huge hand heavily on his shoulder. 

“C’mon, Head,” he says very seriously. “Fair is fair.”

Niall barks out a laugh -- there hadn’t been any prearranged rules to their tournament but Laura’s sliding him a little sachet of salt with a demure smile. 

“Fair is fair,” she echoes, mouth turning into a proper grin and Niall sighs, smiles to himself because he knows he’s walked into it before he reaches for the first shot. 

*

It feels momentous, finally getting them off -- even if it is only the top row. 

He runs his tongue over his smooth teeth and grins. 

“Is this gonna be you all day then?” Eoghan asks from beside him in the car. “Do you want a mirror to look at yourself?” 

“Fuck off,” Niall says lightly. “It feels like they’ve been on for ages and now they’re finally gone. You’d be pretty pleased too.”

“I am pleased,” Eoghan says, quieter this time and when Niall glances over at him he catches his eye. Eoghan clutches at his chest and pulls a simpering face. “You’ve grown up before my very eyes.”

Niall laughs and reaches over to shove him. Traffic is mental, as per usual for Friday lunchtime, made worse by the roadworks at the end of the road. They should’ve taken the tube but Niall’s just relaxing back into the novelty of getting into his own car, that he’s actually paid for with his own money and he’s not going to give up the feeling for saving a half hour being pressed up against three strangers in a tiny tin can. He grips his fingers around the smooth leather of the steering wheel and grins again, tip of his tongue pressed against his two front teeth. 

Eoghan snorts and goes back to scrolling through his phone. “After you’ve finished tonguing yourself, can we swing by Laura’s? I need a shirt for tonight.”

“You wish you could tongue _your_ self,” Niall tells him, the retort coming automatically. Eoghan snorts but doesn't bite back. Niall taps his fingers along to the new Haim song that’s filtering through the surround sound as the traffic finally starts to move.

“Think Harry’s trying to chat one of these girls up,” Niall says, nodding his head to the radio in the dash. Eoghan raises an eyebrow from the passenger seat but doesn’t say much else. 

It makes Niall grin, that Eoghan isn’t really fazed by Niall’s name dropping. He tries not to do it all that often but he can’t help but think of how a few friends from home would be hanging on his every word. That’s nice -- don’t get him wrong -- it’s just nicer sometimes for someone to sort of _get_ it without all the kerfuffle that comes along with it. 

“Nevermind Harry’s lovelife,” Eoghan says slowly, finally pocketing his phone. Niall swallows, suddenly wishing he hadn’t even brought it up. “What about young Master Horan’s?” 

“Oh, you know,” Niall says with a shrug. He keeps his eyes on the road even though they’ve nearly trailed to another stop. Eoghan snorts, his torso fully twisted so he can see Niall properly. Niall can see the way he’s watching him from the corner of his eye and Niall turns his head, watches the workmen wipe at their foreheads and brush at the still half-set tar on the road. 

“Well, I don’t really, do I?” Eoghan asks, grin growing on his face. “Or else I wouldn’t have asked.”

Niall snorts but it’s humourless. He busies himself with punching Laura’s address into his Sat-Nav until the car in front of him finally moves. It’s getting hotter, the April weather finally brightening up. 

There’s not much to say -- there’s no one serious, not since before Christmas, not since he’s started growing three pretty monumental crushes on his friends. Niall resolutely doesn’t look around at Eoghan, even as his face gets pinker and pinker. 

Eoghan laughs but doesn’t push him, slaps him gently on the hand that he’s got resting on his gear stick. “I’ll find out sometime, don’t worry.”

“Nothing to find out,” Niall promises him before he can stop himself but it only makes Eoghan smirk more. 

“Big shot, popstar.” Eoghan punctuates each word with a slap to the dashboard. Niall ignores him, presses his foot on the accelerator and lets the voice in his navigation take all of his concentration. “There has to be a few tawdry stories going on behind the scenes. Groupies, mothers and all that jazz.”

Niall shakes his head but keeps the smile on his face playful. He’s asking the wrong band member for any dirt. Sure, he gets his fair share, even if it’s a bit harder when they’re not on tour and he definitely doesn’t stray too far above his age bracket. He swallows. Well. Usually doesn’t go for people a lot older than him. 

He sneaks a glance over at Eoghan. He’s poking at his nose in the mirror in the sun visor. It doesn’t seem that there’s nearly ten years between them or Laura or Bressie, any of them really so he puts that worry out of his head, humming along to Duke Dumont on the radio until they finally get to Laura’s house. 

“We should’ve said earlier so Laura could’ve came for lunch,” Niall says as they climb the stairs. Eoghan shrugs, his hand deep in his jeans pocket.

“Nah, she’s filming something today,” Eoghan says and pulls out his keys. Niall watches him, his mouth going dry, as he unlocks her door and pushes through into the foyer. 

He didn’t know Eoghan had a key, or that whatever he and Laura have had gotten so serious. He suddenly wants to relive every moment with them together and reevaluate their interactions. Find out when it all started to get more serious. 

Eoghan doesn’t seem to notice, just continues on through the hallway towards the lift. 

Niall’s been in Laura’s house countless times now but it feels strange to be there without her. Eoghan lets them in, dropping his keys in the table by the door. He moves through the house like he knows it well, like he’s lived in it just as long as Laura has. 

Niall trails after him, taking in how quiet it is without Laura clattering about the kitchen or how it doesn’t have the familiar vanilla scent of her candles from the living room. 

“It’s in here somewhere,” Eoghan says, pushing through the door to Laura’s bedroom. Niall has a split second of hesitation, he’s never been in there before and it feels like he’s properly intruding when she’s not there but he reminds himself that it’s Laura and she won’t really mind in the grand scheme of things. 

“What one is it?” Niall asks, rounding the corner and following him in. “Holy shit.”

Her room is complete tip -- clothes strewn across the floor and hanging over the corners of the wardrobe doors. There’s a pile of shoes below the cluttered windowsill and a stack of laundry sitting precariously on the end of the radiator. There’s as much of Eoghan’s stuff as there is Laura’s by the looks of things. 

He’d known that they were close but it’s a whole other level physically seeing it, their lives intertwining without them really realising it. It makes Niall’s face hot thinking about it. It seems so nice, just fitting so tightly together from the outset. 

Niall doesn’t really have that -- he has the boys but they fit together in a whole other type of way. He doesn’t have this easy closeness, this comfortable intimacy. He doesn’t have other people’s clothes in his laundry basket, he doesn’t trip over someone else’s shoes on the way to the bed. 

“Yeah,” Eoghan says, pulling a face. He plucks a sock off the bed knob beside his elbow. It‘s clearly a man’s and he drops it on the floor beside her hamper. “You’d think she’d tidy up a bit.”

Niall snorts and picks his way through the room. Eoghan rifles through her wardrobe, the hangers scraping across the pole with a screech. Niall doesn’t really know where to look so he doesn’t really, just loiters in the patch of sunlight beside the window and watches as Eoghan pulls out half the things in there. 

“Here we are,” Eoghan says, emerging from the wardrobe with a dress shirt. It’s a bit wrinkled as he holds it up to his front. “This do?”

“What’s it for?” Niall asks. It’s a nice shirt, plain but it’ll suit him. 

“Some charity thing Laura’s going to later,” Eoghan says, turning so he can look in her mirror. He’s too tall for it so he takes a step back, and then another until he can fit his body into it. Niall watches him pose, smile growing on his face. 

“You and Laura,” Niall starts and then realises what he’s saying. The words linger for a moment out in the air and Eoghan’s looking at him in the mirror, his face tensing over. 

“Yeah?” Eoghan says, his hands still gripping the shirt to his chest. “What about--”

“It’s nothing,” Niall says turning so he doesn’t have to see Eoghan’s face. He doesn’t like how Eoghan’s eyes are widening, like maybe Niall’s not as good as pretending as he thinks he is. 

“Niall,” Eoghan starts and when Niall glances back at him he’s facing him, his shirt spread out across the bed like it belongs there. 

Niall looks away, desperate to change the direction of their conversation. There’s a frilly bra lying over the end of the bed. Niall reaches for it. “Hey, you know what would be funny?”

*

He goes to the florist himself. Mainly because he has no idea what he’d order over the phone and he doesn’t think that this is a job for his assistant -- that wouldn’t feel special enough. 

It’s a bit spur of the moment -- that’s what he tells himself anyway. He just happens to be passing. He may as well. 

It’s a tiny little place, tucked away in between a newsagents and an old engravers. Flowers spill out onto the path, lush greens and bright yellows that make the slightly rainy start to May feel much more sunny. 

The bell rings above the door and he finds himself grinning before he’s even through it. There’s flowers everywhere and everything smells overwhelming, like perfume and grass and the sun. His nose itches and he rubs at it with the back of his hand as he peers into a bucket of pale pink carnations. 

He’s not sure what she’d like. If she’s a rose girl or something more outrageous like the blooming lilies that were in the window. He tries to think of flowers he’s seen in her house but can’t imagine them, can just see the vase in the corner of his mind’s eye, blocking out some of the light from the window. When he’s in her house, he’s much too distracted by the real person than the flowers in her window. 

He picks a few yellow bright things and something pink that smells like the candles on her mantelpiece. There’s orange helios and pale romantic antique roses and a flash of baby’s breath.

He deliberates over the card and whether just to leave it simple -- happy birthday -- or if he should say something more. 

“Are they for someone special?” the girl behind the counter asks, her eyes too bright for her not to have recognised him. He pauses, his hand lingering above the card. The nib of the pen pressed against it, letting out a bubble of blue ink against the smooth cream card. 

“Just a friend,” Niall says, keeping his voice steady. He lifts his hand, smiles at the girl and hands her the card. Her smile falters slightly as she glances at it and then tucks it against the stems, the blank face of it up. 

*

_where’s my flowers horan?_

Niall gets the message in the middle of a meeting. It makes his phone light up and he normally tries to be as professional as possible in these meetings but Louis’ nearly asleep beside him and Liam’s been texting since before they even began so he doesn’t feel so bad at picking it up. 

It makes him go red when he spots Eoghan’s name and not Laura’s. 

_in your garden_

He sticks a few flowery emojis on after and watches as the little grey dots pop up as Eoghan replies. 

Harry passes him a few little cardboard squares to sniff. They’re perfume testing today and Niall feels like he needs a great big whiff of fresh air he’s smelled so many little pieces of cardboard. 

“Too musty,” Niall comments and throws away one of the squares into the pile in the middle of the table. 

Louis scrambles for it. “Must is my favourite scent on a girl,” he says to the room at large. Niall would laugh but he’s too focused on how the three little dots on his phone are still bouncing.

“What is your favourite scent though?” Liam asks, finally looking up from his phone. It’s the first thing he’s said all morning.

“Shouldn’t we have started this meeting with that question?” Zayn asks from across the table. He’s still got half of his lunch in front of him. He picks up a chip. “Salt and vinegar, I reckon.”

Louis snorts. Niall can see Will’s shoulders fall. They’ve reached their peak concentration. The meeting may as well go to pot now. 

“Chocolate éclair,” Louis tells him. “George,” Louis points to the man from the perfume company. “Write these down. We’ll make a fortune.”

“A freshly laid carpark,” Liam chimes in. “That’s just been rained on.”

“Nice.” Louis nods along. “Eau du toilet duck. Nice and bleachy.”

“Sweet,” Harry says, his finger poised to his chin. He’s looking vaguely off into the distance and Niall’s sure that he’s trying to think up an epic scent to match Louis’. 

“Guys,” George groans. “Please. Come on.”

Louis looks put out for a moment but sits back, resigned, with his arms folded across his chest. “Have it your way.”

“Sandalwood?” Harry asks, like he’s being tested. George nods at him encouragingly. “I’m just trying to think of all the nice Yankee Candles.”

“We’re not having a whole load of our fans smell like Yankee Candles.” 

Niall closes his eyes as the rest of them break into bickering. 

(“Hey, Yankee Candles smell nice.” “Yeah, well, you smell like a big fat Yankee Candle.” “You know that‘s a compliment, yeah, Liam?”)

He tries to imagine what smells he likes best. He doesn’t make a habit of going around and sniffing things a lot though. There’s the smell of petrol, late at night when he goes to the forecourt out by his house. It’s always empty then and he can fill up in peace. Or the smell of the sea on a blistering hot day. Fresh sheets when he presses his face into soft pillows. Laura’s clean skin and the smell of fresh sweat when Bressie comes in from a run. When Eoghan messes with Laura’s fancy coffee machine and makes them all milky sweet drinks. 

Their faces swim into his mind, all purples and greens from the phosphenes at the back of his eyelids and he’s surprised that he can visualise them so well. 

“Right Niall,” Louis barks suddenly. “Stop dreaming, wipe that smile off your face. This is a team effort.”

“Band effort,” Liam corrects and Louis is swatting him gently over the head when Niall opens his eyes. He hadn’t realised he’d been smiling that much. Harry’s narrowing his eyes at him from across the shiny conference table and Niall feels like he’s been caught out. He shouldn’t -- it’s not like Harry can read his mind but it feels like it’s written all over his face. 

“What were you smelling?” Harry asks him, smiling growing into a sly grin and Niall feels all afluster again. 

“Coffee,” he blurts out and Zayn raises an eyebrow from beside Harry. 

“You hate coffee mate,” Zayn reminds him. “Unless it’s all full of caramel.”

Niall shrugs defensively, “maybe it was full of caramel?” None of the eyes leave him and he knows he must be growing red. He runs his tongue around his mouth, feels out the shape of his teeth. 

“The smell of that colour protect shampoo,” Niall says next, the first thing coming into his head. It gets slathered over his hair but he only really notices it when Laura’s just been to the hairdressers, her hair falling in soft, freshly blonde waves. Niall blinks the image away and tries desperately for another scent. “Cocoa butter moisturiser and nail polish remover.”

Louis snorts. “I think we know what Niall gets up to behind closed doors now. All that banging about is actually him trying to give himself a pedicure.”

Niall glares at him and can‘t help feeling a bit defensive. He thinks of Bressie‘s t-shirts damp with sweat and sticking to his shoulders where they‘ve just been rubbed. Niall loves that. It smells like warmth and healing and power. “Like Deep Heat and the smell of the ground after the rain is any better.”

“No one said Deep Heat,” Louis says at the same time as Liam sits forward and says, “There’s a word for that, y’know.”

Niall takes the out when it’s given to him and quickly grapples for his phone. “There is Liam. I wonder what it is?”

Liam shrugs at him and turns to where Louis is badgering George into getting the medicinal smell of Deep Heat into their perfume. “They’ll love it. We can pretend we spend all day at the gym.”

“We do,” Liam says ostensibly. Zayn’s gone back to finishing his chips but Harry’s still watching Niall. It’s unnerving and makes Niall’s hands shake a bit as he pulls up Google and finds the right word he’s looking for. 

“Petrichor,” Niall says loudly to the table but Liam’s hardly listening anymore due to the ensuing argument between Louis and George. Niall feels a bit desperate for them to know that he’s moved on from thinking about lavender sheets and muscle relaxers. 

He can’t hear Harry chip into the conversation so it’s more than likely that he’s still watching him. Niall keeps his eyes down, just in case. He clicks back out into Google and thumbs over to where his Google Alert notification is sitting. He’s stopped checking it religiously anymore, half of the stories months old or a load of rubbish that makes his brain hurt if he thinks about them too long but he presses it today, just for something to do. So he doesn’t have to look up and register Harry’s coy smile. 

He freezes when Laura’s picture comes up, his own grinning face spliced into the frame beside her. And it only makes him feel worse as he scrolls down the headlines, stomach sinking as all of them hint at their possible romance. 

He feels an overwhelming sense of dread, dread that he’s been so oblivious to the stories -- some of them over a week old. He feels like an idiot, swanning around London the past few days without realising he’s been tailed by paparazzi. He wonders for a brief moment whether by some miracle from God that Laura hasn’t found out but he knows he’s kidding himself. 

He’s waiting for the Daily Mail to load the pictures of Niall leaving Laura’s flat one morning when Eoghan finally replies back. His little text box sliding down the top of his phone and obscuring Niall’s bed head as he emerged from Laura’s front door last Tuesday. 

_Swing by mine tonight. No flowers needed._

Fuck.

*

The three of them are whispering in the kitchen when Niall arrives. He had knocked on the door, loitered for a few moments shifting his weight on the balls of his feet before he had pushed on through. 

“Y’aright?” Niall asks from the kitchen doorway. They all peer over at him and Niall tries not to feel uncomfortable, like he’s just interrupted them in the middle of a serious conversation. 

“Niall,” Eoghan says abruptly. Niall glances at the clock above the stove. The second hand is inching past half past -- he’s actually late so he can’t say that they weren’t expecting him. 

“Hi,” Niall says and the three of them gawp back at him. “Everything ok?”

Laura starts to nod but she glances away quickly, turning towards the sink. 

“Course,” Bressie says. “Didn’t realise the time.”

Niall swallows. They’re all acting shifty but Eoghan beams at him, finally moves away from the counter and claps a hand on his shoulder. 

“We were thinking of watching a film,” he tells him, steering him into the living room. Niall drops his coat across the back of the sofa as Eoghan pushes him into it. 

“Is anyone else coming?” Niall asks, glancing up at him. Eoghan’s still hovering near the sofa, Bressie and Laura in the kitchen. “Greg or that?”

“Just us,” Eoghan tells him, finally moving to flick through Sky Box Office. Niall nods to himself. It would be nice to have a buffer between them, especially when he feels this out of place. 

He tries to relax, sink into the worn cushions of Eoghan’s sofa. 

“You want a drink, Niall?” Bressie calls from the kitchen and Niall can hear the rumble of the kettle. 

“Tea’s fine,” Niall calls back. 

Eoghan bends over to look at the DVDs in the cupboard underneath his TV when he’s exhausted the Box Office. It gives Niall a glimpse of his arse and Niall can’t help but stare until he feels a presence at his elbow. 

“Thanks,” he says softly, reaching up to take the mug from Laura. 

She smiles softly at him, her own tea in her hand. “Can we chat a minute?” 

Niall nods, mouth suddenly dry. She looks so serious, so unlike herself and he pulls himself out of Eoghan’s sunken sofa to follow her out of the living room. Eoghan’s still staring very deliberately at his shit collection of DVDs and Bressie’s in the kitchen and it’s starting to make Niall panic a little that this is the type of conversation Laura feels she can’t have with him in the room. He knows that this about but he doesn’t want it to be that bad that the others can’t listen in. 

His tightens his shaking hands around his mug, knuckles white in the effort not to drop it as they slip into Eoghan’s bedroom. 

The lamp is on, sending a soft light across the rumpled sheets and unmade bed. Niall’s never been in here before either, never taken in the old posters peeling off the wall and the smell of aftershave and slightly stale air. 

Laura perches herself on the edge of the bed, smiling thinly at him. He stares at her until she pats at the mattress and Niall sits down heavily beside her. The mattress moves a bit but doesn’t squeak. 

“What’s up?” Niall asks, trying to mask how nervous he suddenly is. He takes a sip of his tea and it’s too hot but at least it’s something to do with his hands. 

“It’s nothing too serious,” she says, setting her mug on Eoghan’s bedside table. It’s cluttered with much the same shit that’s on his tables at home -- loose change, a watch that he’s never seen Eoghan wear and a crumpled packet of blue Soft Mints.

“Doesn’t look it,” he says, trying for a smile but Laura’s half serious expression is making him feel slightly sick. He wonders if this is what she’s like at work, when she’s working hard to get where she wants and isn’t the bright, breezy Laura he knows when she’s interviewing people. It’s a nice image -- when it’s not directed at him.

Laura’s hands are warm from her mug when she touches him, fingers slipping over his hand to curl around his wrist. Niall can hear the thud of his heart in his ears, a dull roar that’s taking up all his concentration. 

“There have been some rumours --” Laura starts and just like that Niall’s stomach bottoms out. 

“Oh,” he says, face burning with embarrassment. Normally, when things like this happen, the girls in the office deal with it. They mediate the people who have been spreading rumours and making up stories. Niall’s not had to deal with it a lot, just sat back as Harry and Zayn disappeared behind glass doors and discussed the latest batch of news stories. He didn’t really think of how this would play out actually with Laura. 

“Some papers have been contacting me,” Laura starts and Niall wishes he was drinking something stronger than tea. 

“Look,” Niall starts but he doesn’t really know what he’s trying to say. “Just ignore them, yeah? That’s what I normally do.”

“I know,” she says and she sounds so calm, like she’s been planning it all out what to say. She’s probably been speaking with Bressie and Eoghan all day long about this and Niall feels another flush of embarrassment. He hates this -- his love life splashed all over the internet and the papers, whether it’s real or not. 

“There’s nothing going on,” Niall says and his heart shreds a little as he admits it. He wishes that weren’t the case, wishes that the Daily Mail and the Sun were right for once. 

Laura gives him a sympathetic smile and maybe she knows what he‘s thinking. Niall swallows roughly. 

“I’ll tell them that,” she says, her voice gone a little strained. Niall stares at the checked pattern on Eoghan’s duvet so he doesn‘t have to look at her anymore. “You don’t have to say a thing, ok? I’ll just say you feel like my little brother or something.”

Niall squeezes his eyes shut for a moment because -- no -- that isn’t what he wants either. She grins at him when he opens his eyes but there’s still something off about it, not as smooth as she normally is. Niall can’t work out if it’s because of the situation or if it’s because of _him_. 

“I just wanted to go over it with you first,” she says, her voice light. “We’ve never really had to deal with this before, have we?” 

Niall shakes his head and finds he can’t meet her eyes. He suddenly feels like a kid, like he’s stepped out of line and someone’s putting him in his place. He runs his tongue over his top teeth, feels the still new smoothness without the braces and pulls his tongue back before he has to touch the ones still there on his bottom ones. It doesn’t make him feel better, any older. He knows his face is bright red when Laura gives his hand a gentle squeeze. 

“Nothing we can’t set right, eh?” she says and taps at the soft skin on the inside of his wrist before she starts to stand up. “C’mon, let’s go and find the others.”

Niall nods, heaving himself off the bed when Laura tugs at his wrist again and into a hug. “Thank you for the flowers,” she whispers and lets her mouth linger at the side of his face, a brush of her lips in a semblance of a kiss.

Niall lets out a breath, eyes closing and fights his instinct to turn and kiss her.

“How‘d you know?” Niall asks her. He hadn’t even signed the card. She pulls back, smile soft on her face.

“Who else would remember my favourites?”

Warmth floods through him at the fact she noticed, embarrassment settling in at how he’s been so obvious. She smiles reassuringly at him and Niall troops after her into the living room. Bressie’s joined Eoghan, both of them sitting on the sofa. They go silent when Niall and Laura enter and Niall feels another wave of paranoia that they’ve been talking about him. 

Laura goes to sit beside Eoghan and it’s a painful reminder that they’re together. He hadn’t really thought about how it would affect them. Laura’s trying to make their relationship work and the last thing she needs is to be linked to some little kid like Niall. 

Bressie offers him a warm smile as Niall slides in beside him. The sofa is just about big enough to house all four of them and Niall wonders why they still do things like this at Eoghan’s house, Niall’s is far bigger, Bressie’s even can host a party of this size better. 

Eoghan hits play and the movie starts but Niall can’t concentrate on it to even know what they’re watching. Laura’s tucked herself into Eoghan, her legs drawn up in front of her and tipped to the side. She’s half in Eoghan’s lap and it means that Niall could reach out his hand and brush his fingers against the skin he can see in the ripped knees of her jeans. Her skin looks smooth, so pale that it turns blue and purple with the change of the TV.

It’s hard not to feel awkward, his back rigid as he’s sitting between them all. He feels too small beside Bressie for once, his arm pressed along Niall’s shoulder. He takes up so much space beside him, his chest radiating warmth as he watches. Niall can hear him breathe, the slow in and out of it. It seems like such a labour to heave his chest like that. 

It’s distracting enough that it becomes annoying, every wheeze of his chest audible over the blare of horns and gunfire on the TV. Eoghan and Bressie clearly picked the movie -- Laura’s lost interest already. She’s curled herself more into Eoghan’s chest, picking at the bottom of his shirt with her fingernails. It looks delicate, like she’s pulling endless thread through a pattern that only she knows. 

“You ok?” Bressie whispers to him but it’s hard to be quiet when there’s only the four of them squashed onto one sofa. 

Niall nods, his hair catching on the material of the couch. “Just tired,” he says even though it’s not remotely true. He’s too jittery to even play off exhausted. 

Bressie hums, a gentle change in his breathing and then he’s pulling him in so he’s tucked up against his chest. Normally it would be nice but Niall feels stiff as a board, too awkward to relax into the space below his arm. 

He smells like woodland and of tea. Like maybe he’s been out for a run somewhere before he came around but it smells familiar as well. Like Eoghan’s bedroom had too. Niall wants to bottle it. Wants to go back to George at the perfume place and make him throw another few scents into the mix.

There’s no photographers here. No one to see but Niall can’t help but relive everything in his head. Has he been so obvious with his little imaginary crush that people have started to catch on? Does he need to completely revise how he acts with them all in public. Should he do rein himself in in private too? That feels too deliberate. He doesn’t want to deny himself the tiny bit of warmth he can get. 

“We should have snacks,” Niall says abruptly. He needs to stand up, needs out of Bressie’s proximity. Laura glances up, eyebrows knitting together and Eoghan shrugs. 

“There’s probably stuff somewhere,” he tells Niall but Niall’s already pushing himself out of Bressie’s arms, his knee twinging with the way he had been sitting so stiff. 

It’s cooler in the kitchen as Niall stares into Eoghan’s fridge. There’s not much in it -- a few bottles of beer and half a block of Applewood the only things that look appealing. His cupboard isn’t much better but he finds a few packets of popcorn lodged down the back behind a huge bag of penne pasta. 

He flicks on the kettle again, letting himself get lost in the rumble of noise between it and Eoghan’s microwave, kernels beginning to pop and ping in the bag as it rotates.

He doesn’t notice that Bressie’s behind him until the kettle rumbles to a stop, steam billowing out of the spout. He jumps a bit, the water sloshing but not spilling when he catches his shadow over his shoulder. 

“What’s up?” Niall asks. “You want tea too?” 

Bressie shrugs, reaches into the fridge. “You want a beer instead?” 

Niall hesitates. He does, it might calm the jittery nervousness that’s taking a grip of him but if he drinks now, he’ll have to wait longer until he can go home. He’s planning on splitting as soon as the movie is over. 

“Driving,” he says simply, wets the teabag in the mug he had been using earlier on. He didn’t grab Laura’s so he reaches for a fresh one -- he won‘t be the one doing the washing up. Bressie gets there first, takes one down slowly and hands it to him. Niall isn’t sure if he’s just running a few seconds faster than Bressie or if he’s being purposely slow.

They stand for a moment, both of them with a grip on the mug before Bressie lets go. 

“She didn’t mean to embarrass you,” Bressie says in a low murmur and Niall wishes he was literally anywhere else. In the teeny-tiniest lift, back on stage at boot camp right at the moment he found out he had been chucked out, in that dark room when he had tried to lose his virginity with Lauren from his biology class and all she had done was laugh the whole way through.

“M’fine,” Niall says, squeezing the teabag against the side of the mug. He turns away to chuck the teabags and uses the time with his back to Bressie to school his features. He wishes he didn’t feel as hot, he can see how pink he is in the shiny chrome top of Eoghan’s pedal bin.

He’s more embarrassed that he _was_ embarrassed about it now -- and that it’s clearly obvious. He can’t shake the feeling that he’s completely missed the boat on everything. Bressie sighs behind him, loud enough that Niall can hear him. Niall ignores it, grits his teeth, “grab the popcorn. We’re missing it.”

“You don’t even know what’s going on,” Bressie says, but he doesn’t look like he’s picking for a fight so Niall doesn’t correct him, just takes the mugs in his hands and waits until Bressie has gingerly picked the piping hot popcorn out of the microwave. 

The darkness of the living room takes a moment for his eyes to adjust from the glare of the kitchen lights. He sets a mug on the coffee table in front of Laura and slides onto the sofa at the opposite end, forcing Bressie to sit in the middle this time. 

Bressie gives him a look that Niall can just make out in the shadows of the TV and passes him the popcorn. 

Niall shoves a handful of it into his mouth, it’s burnt slightly and tastes acrid on his tongue, too dry in his already dry mouth. He chews through it, trying to find any of it that’s sweet but it just forms a ball at the back of his throat until he forces it down. It’s warm in his lap and he watches with unfocused eyes as something blows up on screen. 

“You gonna share?” Laura asks, peering around Bressie to reach for the popcorn. Niall goes to give her the bag but she shoves her dainty hand into the opening of the bag instead, pushing it further into his lap. It’s warm, a faint pressure. 

Niall swallows, watches the vein on the inside of her wrist jump as she closes her hand around a handful. This is the part where Eoghan would make a dirty joke about a popcorn surprise or he’d shove at Laura until she was tipping off his lap and into Bressie’s instead. 

But he doesn’t and that’s the thing that seals the deal for Niall, that this means a whole lot more than any of them are letting on. 

Niall stares at the screen unseeing until his eyes start to sting. He knew it was only a matter of time before they all got bored of the constant media attention, of the strangers commenting on everything in their lives because Niall’s just a part of it. Of Niall altogether. 

He clears his throat as quietly as possible, sips his cooling tea and pretends to watch the movie until the credits start to roll and Laura shifts slowly, stretching her arms above her head. She’s still half sprawled between them now and Niall’s only noticed how much she’s still leaning up against Bressie, her head lolling onto his shoulder. 

“Think I’ll head home,” Niall says once Eoghan reaches for the lamp and clicks it on. His eyes burn and he knows that they’re going to start to water. They all glance over at him and Niall doesn’t pause to catalogue their expressions, making a show of heaving himself out of the sofa instead. “Early morning, you know?” 

Laura nods, her cheek pressed against Bressie’s shoulder. “Fancy photoshoot?” 

“Yeah,” Niall says and forces a smile onto his face. “Best get home and moisturise. Need to look my best.”

It falls a bit flat, neither Eoghan nor Bressie take the piss out of him for it. Laura doesn’t offer him any tips in half seriousness like she usually does. 

They’re all silent for a moment and Niall struggles to find something to say that’ll break the re-solidifying ice. “You want a lift, Brez?” Niall asks from where he’s reaching for his coat. It’s cold out, especially this late at night. Bressie lives five minutes away from him now, ten minutes tops. 

Bressie laughs, runs and hand through his hair and then shakes it out. "Think I'll stay here."

Niall glances up, slightly surprised by his answer. Why would he want to stay when Niall's offering him a perfectly good lift home?

Laura giggles and Niall watches as she reaches up and fluffs a hand through his hair. Bressie’s eyes flutter closed and. Oh.

Eoghan leans into his arm, looking soft and wanton and Niall's never seen them like this. All _three_ of them. He’s seen a little too much of Laura and Eoghan over each other but --

The realisation starts slow, seeping through him until it's just… there. The knowledge that this thing between Eoghan and Laura stretches to include Bressie too settling like stone.

Niall swallows and hates himself for that spike of hot envy. For hating Bressie in that tiny moment for being happy with them. If their relationship could fit Bressie in, why couldn't it have fitted Niall? If Bressie was looking for someone, why couldn’t it have been _him?_

"Niall," Laura says then and Niall snaps his attention back to them. He's still got half his jacket shrugged on and Eoghan's giving him a soft, concerned look. Niall shakes himself and pulls on his coat.

"Yeah," he says and turns his back to them, just in case they can work out what he's thinking. He clears his throat. "Just dreaming already. Time for bed I think"

“Night then.” His tone doesn’t sound light anymore but Niall’s suddenly too tired to even try. It hadn’t been the relaxing evening that he had been excited for all afternoon. Eoghan’s still glancing at him warily and Niall pretends he doesn’t know what that means. Bressie doesn’t seem to notice for once, he’s already sinking into Laura’s embrace, his head dipping lower and lower. Niall wants to stay, watch to see what he does. He thinks of his mouth on her breast, licking at her nipple through her shirt. It might go see-through, rosy dark shining through it as he sucks.

He snaps his eyes away, cheeks burning and heads for the door. This is what has gotten him into trouble to begin with. 

“See you later, Niall,” Eoghan calls but Niall doesn’t answer, allows himself that little bit of jealousy to turn him bitter. He feels childish for it but he doesn’t have space in his head to care as he shuts the door on their giggling. 

It’s cold outside, wind whipping at his face as he slides into his car. It chills him, doesn’t clear his head at all, rolls down the window just to feel it more against his burning face. He stares out of the window for a moment, blinking up when the lights flick off in Eoghan’s flat. 

*

He ignores them for as long as feasibly possible -- which isn’t long considering they’re all invited to his London show and have been pretty much since it had been announced. 

There’s always something nice about doing these types of shows. The crowd, as always, are up for it. Screaming at the top of their lungs and stamping their feet. Niall could be deafened by the ferocity at which the lyrics are sung back at them, louder and louder with every word. 

The only thing that truly beats it is if he was home -- just that bit louder, just that bit more mad -- a home crowd. 

Laura reaches him first, a few paces in front of the boys as they come through the door of the green room. Niall’s still catching his breath, the wires from his microphone and in-ears a tangle around his neck. 

“That was fantastic,” she says into his ear, her voice loud as she announces it to the room at large. Niall laughs her into her neck, squeezes her gently around her middle. She’s wearing flowery perfume and a leather jacket that smells musky and real. She’s properly decked out, jeans and biker boots and nothing like the mix of pink glittery t-shirts and overworked body con dresses that bookend the span of their demographic. He can still hear them filtering out, the din of excited chatter and footfalls as they crowd out into the carpark or queue for the loo in droves. 

“Good show,” Eoghan commends once Laura’s extricated herself from Niall’s neck. She’s still grinning and leans into Bressie’s side once she’s taken a step back because. Oh yes. Niall had nearly forgotten. He blinks the sweat out of his eyes, holds his forearm up to his brow and grins, clinging onto the high from the stage.

“It was reaching fever-pitch out there,” Laura chatters and Niall leads them over to the bar area of the green room. They normally don’t use it after the show but they’re in London so they’ve got quite a few guests between the five of them for these shows. 

He passes out the beers and they all grin back at him. Niall thinks they’ve caught some of the infectious buzz that Niall runs on for hours after he comes off stage. Bressie keeps grinning at him, his mouth slow and liquid. Laura’s nearly vibrating beside him. 

“Niall!” Louis squawks across the room. Niall glances over at where he’s beckoning him in the corner. “Phototime. Round up the troops.”

“Be right back,” Niall tells Laura and takes off towards the gaggle of Tomlinson’s in the corner. 

It’s busy, especially with this many family members backstage and it’s easy for Niall to get brought into conversation after conversation with different people. He catches Bressie’s eye a few times, finds him standing by the rider table looking tall and broad amongst everyone else. It makes Niall feel hot to know that he’s been watching him.

“Hey,” Bressie says quietly, a hand to Niall’s elbow a few minutes later when Niall’s in between guest greeting. Niall turns to him, focuses on the dip in his brow and the way he’s hunched in on himself. “About the other night. You’re not --”

Niall raises an eyebrow. “Not what?” 

Bressie looks conflicted for a moment before he finally spits it out. “Not bothered about it? About -- us?”

Us. Niall narrows his eyes and grips his bottle tighter. He needs to pee, his bladder pulsing. He hasn’t been since half way through the show and even then it was a quick piss in the portaloo and dash back to the stage. He glances past Bressie and takes in the packed room around him. Laura and Eoghan are off in the distance, secluding themselves into the corner, Laura giggling into Eoghan’s shoulder. It’s hard for Niall to imagine for a moment either of them replaced with Bressie. Bressie’s hand on Laura’s waist or laughing into Eoghan’s chest. Niall wonders where Bressie fits.

“Laura and Eoghan and that?” Bressie clarifies and he looks a bit nervous for once as Niall’s silence stretches out longer than he had intended. 

Niall clears his throat. “Nah,” he says with a shrug but he finds he can’t quite meet Bressie’s eyes. “It’s grand. None of my business, is it?”

Niall hates saying it. He wants it to be his business and even if it isn’t, he could be a bit more enthusiastic. They’re his best mates for fuck sake. 

Bressie’s expression gives away the fact that he’s probably thinking the same thing and it makes Niall feel more guilty. He takes a swallow of beer to stop him from blurting out anything else and hopes that someone from the bustling party around him comes for a chat soon. 

“You’d --” Bressie starts and Niall glances up, catches the concern in his expression. “You’d tell me if you didn’t.”

It’s not a question and Niall swallows. He says it so confidently. Like he knows Niall through and through by now. He hates how Bressie can do this sometimes, like he’s got a big glass plate where his face should be and Bressie can see right inside. 

“Course,” Niall says and it comes out soft. He clears his throat and repeats himself, pasting a smile onto his face just in case anyone’s watching. He doesn’t want this to be a serious conversation. He doesn’t want to kill the buzz from the show. 

“Good,” Bressie nods once and then again before he takes another drink of his beer. “I don’t want there to be any --”

Niall doesn’t want to go down this route. He glances away and then back again quickly so Bressie doesn’t think he’s being purposefully awkward. 

“I don’t want anybody to be hurt,” Bressie says quietly and Niall can only hear the thumpthump of his heart. The rest of the people in the room melt away and Niall’s torn from wanting Bressie to say something and wanting him to never say anything again. 

“Anybody?” Niall prods because he’s a glutton for punishment but he’s saved by Harry coming over and thumping him on the back. 

“Bressie,” he says, grinning up at him. “C’mon, after parties to be at!”

“Yeah?” Bressie asks, turning to chat to Harry on the way out the door. Niall takes a breath to steady himself and then a pull of his beer when that doesn’t work. Laura and Eoghan are giggling over something in the corner, Laura’s entire body curved under Eoghan’s shoulder. Bressie’s glancing over his shoulder at Niall, his face all downturned as if he wants to continue their conversation later. 

Niall heaves a breath and turns on his heel, surveys the crowd of people gathering coats and finishing their drinks before they move onto the party. There’s a few of Eleanor’s friends in with her tonight, a little clique of them gathered near the door with Louis. One of them flips her hair over her shoulder, catches Niall’s eye. 

Niall smiles at her and waits for her to smile back. 

That’s his night sorted.

*

Laura grins wickedly. Her lips are painted red tonight and it stands out, her hair looks blonder, her teeth look whiter, her eyes more blue.

"My pick," she says, one finger pressed into the indent of her chin. "My pick is a pair of pants."

Niall snorts. "Easy."

Her eyes narrow suspiciously and Eoghan grins from behind his glass. It's just them tonight -- Bressie caught up in work until later in the week. They've decided they should have a List to make things more interesting. Niall's played before; a predetermined checklist of things they need to get on their night out before they make it home.

"Men's pants," Laura clarifies, straw of her drink sitting on her bottom lip. It's stained red.

Niall feels a swoop of something in his stomach. He takes a gulp of beer to cover his surprise, coughing a bit when it catches something in this throat. Eoghan laughs delightedly, Laura grinning to join him.

"Just as easy?" Eoghan teases. He's got his hair flicked up and in one of those waistcoats Bressie takes the piss out of him for. Niall wonders if he could come home with Eoghan's boxers and still win. He'd be winning something anyway.

"Yeah," Niall says determinedly. Laura's eyes sparkle across the table.

"Let the best man win." Laura grins and sucks on her straw. Niall watches the corner of her mouth twist, lipstick a perfect line around them. He wants to lick it off.

He clears his throat again, concentrates on the list forming in front of them. Eoghan's still laughing a bit, leaning into Laura's side and they're at it already; those long, lingering looks shared between them. Niall can't work out if it's better with or without Bressie. He supposes if he was here he could turn to him and start another conversation but there's always the chance that he'd be in on the longing glances too.

It makes his head hurt if he thinks about it too much, his heart panging along with it. He scrapes his nail down the paper label of his beer. Condensation making it come away easily. He's nearly out and they'll probably be heading soon but he opens another one anyway, the cap popping off with a satisfying hiss.

"Will we call a car soon?" Laura asks, glancing down at the delicate watch on her wrist. There's no rush -- Niall can get them into anywhere they want.

Niall bops his head and when he looks up Eoghan's looking at him, smile directed at him this time. It makes Niall's gut turn warm.

"Where we heading?" he asks. Laura slips off the bar stool and disappears off to do something or other. Probably touch up her makeup or whatever girls do when they're making the last push to get out the door.

"Wherever you want."

It feels a little bit awkward between them and Niall's not sure why. He puts it down to being away from them for so long. It’s nice to be back but there’s an element of having to work for that easiness between them. He’s never really had to do that before. Or maybe, it was just a little bit different, like he’d never had it to know how he’d miss it.

Eoghan gives him a slightly crooked smile. “Missed you while you were away. Glad you‘re back.”

Niall tries not to let the shock register on his face, he can’t tell if it’s working, he can just feel the flushed betrayal on his cheeks. 

“It wasn’t that long,” Niall says. He swallows down the dryness in his mouth and watches as Eoghan gives a short shrug. He looks like he’s edging on uncomfortable too and Niall wonders if he meant to admit that at all. The kitchen feels very empty and quiet without Laura nattering away. 

“Felt it this time, that’s all.” Eoghan finishes his drink and then shakes himself when Laura slinks back into the room. She’s got a fresh coat of lipstick on and smiles at them radiantly. Niall watches as Eoghan glances over at her, his face slipping into neutral. 

“Ready to go?” 

Niall nods and follows her out the door, keeping a step in front of Eoghan the entire way. 

They go to a little bar Niall’s heard about but never been in. He likes this, mapping out a new place with a drink in his hand and always finding someone to have a laugh with. It’s busy, but not packed and they wind their way through the groups of people to find a table. It’s very wooden -- wooden staircases and big round tables for groups of people to crowd around. The bar is wide and braces half the room. It’s like a big tub boat -- Niall loves it. 

They settle at a table near the back, Laura scouting for some hapless victims of her List while Eoghan settles in next to him. 

“You’ve been quiet,” Niall points out. Eoghan takes his time sipping at his drink before he turns to him, hunching his shoulder so it’s like they’re totally enclosed in themselves. Niall smiles gently at him. 

“Just thinking,” Eoghan says. He frowns and Niall watches as he drags his fingers down the condensation on his glass. He’s not normally this pensive. 

“Thinking?” Niall pushes. “Thinking about --”

Eoghan smiles, his mouth going lopsided. “Haven’t seen him in a while.”

_Oh._

Eoghan sighs out, runs a hand through his hair. Niall watches as he looks out across the bar to where Laura is. “Just feels like he’s always in Dublin now.”

“Yeah,” Niall says. He’s starting to feel a bit awkward listening to this. He doesn’t need to hear all the in and outs of Eoghan’s relationships. “But you’ll see him during the filming, yeah?”

Eoghan nods, smiles ruefully at his drink. “Just feels like everyone is away all the time. Bressie’s in Dublin. Laura’s in London. You’re --”

Niall freezes. Eoghan’s pretty drunk but he didn’t think he was drunk enough to talk stupid. He looks at him carefully, his eyes glittering with the dim lights swirling around them. 

“I’m what?” Niall asks carefully. There’s something lodged in his throat that’s not the bubbles from the drinking. 

Eoghan swings his head round to him, his smile back again. He stares at Niall for a moment, his gaze unfaltering. Niall could get lost in it.

“You’re about to swap underwear with me,” Eoghan says unexpectedly. “Laura will be insufferable if she wins.”

Niall laughs brightly and nods, feeling disappointment douse everything fluttering in his chest. 

“Come on,” Eoghan says, jumping up off his seat. He leads the way to the bathrooms and Niall can’t help wishing that something more illicit was going to happening in there. They’re thankfully empty as they slide in, Eoghan taking the first stall. Niall ducks his head, keeping it down as he passes the mirror -- he doesn’t need to see the eager flush in his cheeks. 

He snicks the lock closed in the cubicle next to Eoghan and starts on his jeans. He can hear the thump of Eoghan’s shoes as he kicks them off. A rattle of change as it falls out of his pocket. 

“Ah shit,” Eoghan laughs. Niall hears his hand push up against the wall. “There goes my pennies.”

Niall snorts, his jeans halfway down his legs. If he was outside the cubicle he’d help pick them up for him. 

“Here,” Eoghan says, his hand appearing underneath the panel. His boxers are warm and Niall feels inappropriate for a moment, standing with his jeans around his knees and another man’s boxers in his hands. 

It makes him laugh, louder than before. He hears Eoghan laugh too, his hand disappearing back below the partition. 

“This is why Bressie should be here,” Niall tells him between laughter. He kicks his jeans off the rest of the way. “He always misses the most ridiculous nights.”

Eoghan snorts. “Yeah but you’re always away too,” Eoghan says quietly. “That doesn’t feel right either.” 

Niall stills. There’s a burst of music as the door opens, footsteps as they head to the urinals. Niall can hardly breathe. There’s the blast of a hand dryer and then the door again as the person leaves. 

“I didn’t mean that,” Eoghan says as soon as the music is muffled again. Niall strips out of his underwear, feeling far too exposed even though he’s trapped in a square toilet stall. He hears Eoghan groan over the buzzing in his ears. “I didn’t mean it like _that_.” Eoghan corrects himself. 

Niall bends over, shoving his fist under the partition. Eoghan’s fingertips are hot when they brush over Niall’s wrist. It makes Niall suck in a breath as he stands and pulls his jeans back on perfunctorily. He can hear Eoghan bang about outside, the sound of the tap again as Niall works up the courage to unsnick the door. Eoghan’s already standing out there, a sheepish expression on his face as it drips with water that he’s clearly just splashed over himself.

Niall’s not quite sure what to say. 

"I think I might sell these on eBay," Eoghan says and it’s an attempt to make Niall laugh again, to bring them both back to how they were when they were giggling in the hallway outside the door. Niall glances up and feels his face flush at the fact that his underwear is now clasped tightly in Eoghan's hand. "Make a fortune and finally move to a mansion."

"Only if you let me have my own room," Niall retorts, sliding Eoghan's boxers into his back pocket. 

“Hmm,” Eoghan hums, his face twisting into a smile. It’s tentative, nervous like he thinks Niall’s going to bring it up again. Ask what Eoghan had meant. Eoghan ducks his head and says quietly, “I think that can be arranged. We’ve all grown attached to you too much to let you leave us again.”

Niall stares at the little of Eoghan’s face he can see. “Oh,” is all he says. He can’t quite work out what part of what Eoghan’s saying is bravado. 

“I’m sure you’d be the nicest kidnappers ever,” Niall says brightly and heads over towards the door. He needs to be out into the bar with other people so he can tamp down the urge to kiss him. If he stays alone with him much longer he’ll just give into it. 

“Kit you out in a little granny flat over the garage,” Eoghan’s saying as he trails after him. Niall nods, scouring the dancefloor for Laura. He finally spies her in their booth from earlier. 

“Where’d you both get off to?” she asks once they reach her. She’s laughing when Eoghan slides into the seat beside her, his face immediately pressing into her neck. Niall watches them for a moment, something burning unpleasantly in his belly. He looks away when he sees Laura roll her body up into it, one hand cupping his jaw as the other slides down under the table. 

Niall shifts in his seat, the rough of the denim catching at him, an uncomfortable reminder how both he and Eoghan are bare under their jeans.

Eoghan is whispering into Laura’s ear and Niall sees rather than hears when Laura gasps, her hand coming up from under the table. “So you boys think you’ve won?” she says, her eyes twinkling.

Laura laughs but when Niall glances at Eoghan, he can see a thread of discomfort under his own laughter. The pink of his cheeks nothing to do with the flashing lights in the ceiling. Niall smiles, feeling the strain at the corner of his lips. 

“I know I’ve won anyway,” Eoghan says and Laura laughs, tucking herself into Eoghan’s side. Niall feels that twinge of awkwardness again -- that obvious third wheel moment. He busies himself with playing with the coaster on the table and waits until Eoghan snorts a laugh and pulls away from her. 

“Home time,” he announces. Laura laughs, pressing a kiss to the corner of his jaw. 

They walk through the dancefloor to get to the door -- if it’s even classed as a dance floor. There’s a few people up and grooving along to the music and Laura twists under the disco lights, throwing her head back as Madonna comes on. 

“Niall!” she cries, reaching for his hand. Niall laughs and lets her tug him along, twisting her under his arm and pulling her close to his chest. She’s warm, her shirt thin so he can feel the flush of her skin that’s under it. 

She dances along, her hips moving against Niall’s to the beat. Eoghan’s dancing beside them, his mouth turned up as he sings along, hands above his head. He’s got Laura’s handbag slung across his chest and when he catches Niall’s eye he grins, his eyes dropping to watch where Laura’s dancing against Niall, his hands on her side. 

“I love this song,” Laura tells him breathlessly when she twists, hips still moving to the beat. It feels like they could be grinding, Niall pushing back dirtily as they dance. “Dancing around you is a sweet sensation,” she sings and Niall can’t stop staring at her mouth, still red but a little smudged at the top, just on her cupid’s bow from kissing Eoghan. Niall wonders if there’ll be a smear of red somewhere on his jaw. 

Laura bops her head, laughing again. Her shirt ruffles under Niall’s hand and gets to brush his fingers across the soft skin on her hips, feel the perspiration on her lower back. She twists again and his thumb brushes over the softness of her belly, skims her belly button as she presses her bum against his front.

Niall’s head is spinning. He drags his hand back to her side, feels how his hands fits around her waist. 

“Eoghan!” Laura says, sliding away from Niall’s grip to point at him as she sings the rest of the song. Eoghan sings back enthusiastically before she launches herself into his arm for another kiss. 

They leave after that -- Madonna fading into something else from the 80s that Niall doesn’t recognise. 

The taxi journey is long and Niall stares out the window, trying to ignore how Laura’s hand keeps creeping across into Eoghan’s lap. 

“I’ll see you later, yeah,” Niall says once they pull up to Laura’s building. 

Laura frowns. “No, come in. We’ll have another drink.”

Niall glances over at Eoghan, sees the way he’s flicking his gaze between the two of them. Laura’s hand is still in Eoghan’s lap and Niall shifts against the leather of the cab seat, feels the scratch of denim against his bum and the bulge of Eoghan’s boxers in his pocket. The meter is still running, the red numbers notching up by ten pence the longer they deliberate. That’s not what’s bothering him -- it’s the way Laura’s grinning at him, all loose and gentle compared to the intense look in Eoghan’s eyes.

Niall finds himself unbuckling his seatbelt, shoving thirty quid through the glass to the driver and following them up the steps to Laura’s flat. 

His palms feel slick as he closes the front door behind him, Laura’s voice filtering back through the hallway towards him as she and Eoghan disappear off towards the living room. Niall drops his wallet and phone on the table by the front door, kicks off his shoes where he normally sticks them. He hangs his coat up beside Laura’s on the hook beside the kitchen door. 

He takes a breath. Is this it? Is this the moment? He feels a bit off kilter -- Bressie isn’t here. But then again maybe he’s read the signs wrong, maybe Bressie isn’t a part of the couple at all. Maybe they aren’t a Three but rather a Two plus One.

Maybe it’s Niall’s time to be the One. 

He runs his hand through his hair, can already feel himself sink into the thought. Feel the warmth soaking through his belly at the image of Laura and Eoghan both inviting him into their bed tonight. He pushes that uncertainty in his head away -- that big Bressie shaped weight hanging over him and walks into the living room. 

“Think I’m just gonna head to bed,” Eoghan says and Niall grins to himself. What a line. He looks up, sees how Eoghan’s shrugging out of his coat and slinging it over one of the chairs around the dining table. It’s still littered with their drinks from before they went out. 

Laura yawns but her eyes are focused, sharp on Eoghan’s face across the room. “I’m tired myself. We had a good night.”

Eoghan agrees softly, glancing back over at Niall and it pricks at him, Niall feels like he’s being _watched_.

Laura moves towards the hallway again, Eoghan’s gaze lingering on Niall before he goes. Niall swallows the rush of saliva in his mouth. He’s not sure if he’s fully ready for this. 

But he wants it. 

He’s never been surer. It’s that same thrumming he used to get back in the early days when they were in the X Factor house. That glut of heat in his belly that makes him _want_ what he knows he can’t have. 

“See you in the morning, love,” Laura murmurs, coming back into the living room with a pillow and soft, pink blanket. 

Niall freezes. Numbly puts his hands out and accepts the bedding from her. 

She kisses the side of his cheek sloppily and reaches for Eoghan. 

“Night,” Niall says, dropping down onto the sofa. “Night, then.”

Eoghan follows her, turning his head just at the last minute to look at him. It feels like the room’s shifted around him -- he didn’t interpret it wrong. He’s sure he didn’t. 

“Night,” Niall says again. Like it’s the only thing he can say without blurting everything else out.

He can hear the low murmur of their voices from the bedroom and it stings. That bitter disappointment sinking through his tummy and weighting him like a rock against the back of the sofa. 

Niall sinks into it, blanket bundled in his lap. He can’t even take his jeans off because he’s got nothing underneath. He rubs the edge of Eoghan’s in his hand, the grey cotton gone soft with wear. 

Laura sighs a room away and Niall closes his eyes, willing himself to be brave enough not to listen. 

*

"Pour some sugar on me!"

Niall's been humming a song all morning. It's not that one but it feels good to sing something. Or sing as well as he can with a hoarse throat and a throbbing headache. His eyes feel gritty and he aches with lack of sleep. 

Eoghan huffs a laugh from where he's sprawled out on the ground, head pillowed on one of Laura's baby pink throw pillows that Niall slept on last night. He looks as rough as Niall feels. They haven't moved very far all day. It had felt like Niall had only dropped off when he’d woken up to Laura offering him a broccoli and banana smoothie under his nose and Eoghan stumbling half dressed out of her bedroom. Niall had dry heaved and pretended not notice the love bite on her shoulder. Not all at the same time -- it had taken a few bleary-eyed minutes to work out the latter.

"Tweet it," Eoghan says a little belatedly. "Send your army of fans on a musical education."

Niall snorts. "Better pick a better song, mate."

"Too chicken," Eoghan grins, rolling onto his side so he can look up at Niall on the sofa. "Knew you wouldn't have it in ya."

Niall keeps his gaze. His stomach lurches a bit but that could be to do with how he had moved onto drinking his weight in whiskey last night and not the way Eoghan's looking at him, eyes narrowed and mischievous. He’s been running through the previous day over in his head all morning and any way he thinks of it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. 

"Go on," Eoghan cajoles. "I dare you."

Niall feels clammy, that rolling heat that he normally associates with hanging over a toilet bowl the next morning. There’s a very small part of him that’s telling him just to go home. Remove himself from this entire situation.

“Double, jammy dare you,” Eoghan says, waggling his eyebrows at him and shoves his hand into his hair. It sticks up a bit with sweat and last nights hair gel. Niall wants to feel it under his fingers.

“That isn’t even a thing,” Niall says.

“Stop stalling!” Laura calls from the kitchen. “A dare is a dare!” 

Niall rolls his eyes, reaching for his phone. He was always going to do it, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't. He thinks Eoghan’s probably worked this out about Niall long ago, when they were just starting to become friends. Niall loves a joke, he’s only slightly embarrassed at himself at how eager he is to pull one off. 

But the initiations and the cajoling and the daring is starting to get a bit old now. He’s part of the group now -- well he feels part of the group. He shouldn’t have to do it like this anymore.

Eoghan grins at him and rolls over again, hand around the pillow. There’s something on the TV but Niall’s not paying attention, his eyeline caught around the red lines on his back, on show from the way Eoghan’s twisted his shirt. It makes Niall’s breath catch because they have to be nail marks. He can see it, imagine the way Laura would’ve been wrapped around him, how he would arch into her when she raked her hand down his back. He can nearly hear it too. 

It makes something bubble inside him and he tries for a moment to work out who he’s more jealous of. 

Laura calls through the kitchen, her voice startling him out of his daydream. “Dinner!” 

Eoghan groans, rolling flat against the rug in front of Laura‘s telly. “Thank God,” he mutters, eyelashes fluttering before he hauls himself to his feet. He reaches out automatically for Niall’s hand and Niall tries not to over think the way his hand feels against Eoghan’s, how hot his palm is pressed against his own, how perfect they fit together. 

Eoghan’s already singing Laura’s praises as they make their way into the kitchen but Niall’s focused on how he’s still holding his hand, his thumb rubbing at Niall’s knuckle. He only drops Niall’s hand when they get to the table. She’s set it perfectly and Niall grins, taking his seat with his back to the window that looks out on the dull, grey London Sunday.

“Feels like home,” Eoghan compliments her, reaching out to catch his hand around her waist. Laura laughs and swats at him and Niall blinks at his plate, searches inside himself for that awkwardness from being an _addition_.

“To Niall coming home,” Laura toasts once the dinner has been dished out. A perfect roast chicken and Laura’s mam’s trick to making good roasties. She lifts her wine glass between two fingers and tips it into the middle of the table. Eoghan does the same and Niall grins, reaching up to clink his glass with them. 

_Home_.

*

He's one mouthful into a pint of Guinness and lovely stranger called Hannah has just bought him when Bressie appears. He's not hard to miss, wading through the busy makeshift dance floor area to get to the bar.

"Aw head!" Niall cries when he gets close enough. Bressie grins at him, hand clapping down on his shoulder in greeting. Niall likes the way it feels, heavy and big as it curls over his shoulder. “Glad you could make it! Took ya long enough.”

Bressie grins at him, presses in close, mouth brushing against the side of Niall’s temple before he stoops over more to get at his ear. 

“Is that a pint of Guinness?” he asks, breath warm against the shell of Niall’s ear. He shivers. The bar is warm but Bressie’s breath feels hotter. 

“Yeah,” Niall answers softly, slow realisation dawning on him. The glass feels heavy in his hand and it lets it clunk against the shiny, sticky wood of the bar. 

“I do believe it should be someplace else,” Bressie reminds him in a sing song voice before he steps away, putting enough space between him so he’d be out of the range of splash back. 

Niall stares at him, catches the way his eyes glint. He smirks at him, taking another pointed step back before turning to get the barman’s attention. 

The girl beside him is still hovering at his elbow. It’s awkward, Niall isn’t sure how to ask her to leave without being rude. Bressie’s here, he only wants to speak to him now and now he’s about to probably splash half a pint over her.

He lifts his drink again, it feels so much heavier, like it’s made out of lead not liquid. The condensation on his glass makes it squeak between the grip of his thumb and finger pads. 

Bressie’s back is still to him, shirt stretched out over his broad shoulders and his head stooped down out of habit to speak to the man behind the bar. He’s ordering a drink, hand slipping into the back of his jeans pocket for his wallet. 

Niall’s mouth feels dry. The girl laughs again loudly, as if to get his attention but Niall ignores her. He doesn’t want to be distracted.

He knows that Bressie’s doing this on purpose. He’s not even speaking to the barman anymore but he still keeps his back to him. Niall can picture him trying not to smile. 

He takes a step to the side but the girl steps with him, eyes wide and bright and barely hiding that desperate look that Niall hates. Her loss. Because Niall’s lifting the pint up, up higher past his mouth, his nose. It’s got a perfect line an inch from the rim of the glass, head perfect and thick and it’s ice, ice cold as it sloshes over his head 

He gasps loudly, eyes shutting automatically as the liquid pours over his face. 

“Fuck,” he swears. He can hear a stutter in the din around them, the girl’s shriek and then Bressie’s booming laugh that brings everyone else around them to laughter. 

His brow is still dripping when he opens his eye, glass empty and hollow now in his hand. He sets it down on the bar, t-shirt soaked and it’s cold where it clings to his skin. 

He turns to the girl first, it’s only polite but her face has dropped into a glare. 

“What the fuck was that?” she asks. The front of her top is splashed with beer, staining quickly in three seeping splotches. 

“Sorry,” Niall apologises but he’s already starting to laugh because he’s still dripping down the front of his face. There’s something exhilarating about throwing caution to the wind and doing something completely crazy. “I’m really sorry.”

“Freak,” she snaps and turns on her heel. 

Niall feels a bit guilty but it turns into giggly amusement when he turns back to Bressie. 

“Nice one,” Bressie compliments. A few people around them are still looking but most have turned back to their conversations. It’s still hard to hear, the music at the far corner of the pub seeming all the more loud with the crowd singing along to it. 

“You owe me a drink,” Niall says and he’s still grinning. He has to be to deal with the sticky damp that’s settling against his skin now. It’s seeped into the front of his jeans too and it’s uncomfortable. He forgot how much liquid was actually in a pint. 

“Got you one,” Bressie nods and reaches behind the bar as if he had been hiding them. He comes up with a pint of Guinness and Niall stares at the smirk that’s growing up the side of Bressie’s face when he produces another one. “There you go!”

“You fucker,” Niall mutters but Bressie just grins.

“A deal is a deal, young Horan. Do you think I would forget?”

The barman isn’t as forgiving when Niall tips the second pint over his head. It’s not as cold but he’s soaked and when he opens his eyes there’s a wide berth around him and Bressie, patrons of the bar losing sight of the funny side now. Niall doesn’t blame them. 

“Lads,” the barman says, loud enough to hear over the music but not so much to draw attention to them. “How about you leave before I cause a fuss, yeah?” 

Niall nods immediately and Bressie just guffaws again, hand coming down on Niall’s sopping shoulder as he pushes his way through the bar again. 

It’s freezing once they’re outside, Niall’s wet clothes making him shiver. 

“How am I gonna get into a taxi?” Niall asks, teeth chattering together. Bressie snorts but then he’s shrugging out of the green checked shirt he’s got on. Niall doesn’t tell him to stop, he should but he doesn’t. 

“Stick this on, don’t tell the driver you’re soaked and I’ll tell the others to head back to yours?” Bressie asks, already holding one hand up to wave down a car and the other holding out his shirt. Niall takes it quietly, pulling it on quickly as a taxi pulls to a stop beside them. It swamps him, sleeves sliding over his wrists enough that he has to keep pushing them up but it’s warm and falls down below his waist so he doesn’t feel as bad when he climbs into the back of the car. He reeks and it starts to seep through the thin material of the shirt but Bressie just laughs, tells the driver Niall’s address off the top of his head and settles in beside him, legs folded up because they’re in the back. 

“Don’t lean too much on the seat, eh?” Bressie asks quietly as the car cuts through the busy Friday night traffic. 

Niall grins and leans up against Bressie’s broad shoulder. “Should’ve sat on your knee.”

Bressie laughs and Niall not sure if he can smell the hint of his aftershave off his shirt or off his actual skin. 

“Shush,” Niall tells him. “You’re just drawing attention to ourselves, you’d never be a good spy.”

Bressie laughs again, fingers flying across his phone. When Niall peers over to see the texts he’s sending to Eoghan and Laura he sees a string of little purple aubergines in response. Bressie quickly clicks his phone closed and pockets it. 

“You owe me a pint now,” Bressie says instead and Niall nods, tries not to read too much into Eoghan’s tipsy emoji messages. 

“Plenty back at mine,” Niall tells him. “Got everything stocked for being back.”

Bressie gives him a fond smile and then a hand lands on his knee, a gentle squeeze. 

There’s a moment. A moment of very brief clarity where Niall realises he’s making a mistake. It’s slotted nicely between the moment he catalogues the colour of Bressie’s lips in the yellow blur of street lights and the bit where he’s already leaning in to kiss him. 

_”Niall,”_ Bressies says, a hand appearing out of nowhere to touch him on the shoulder and push him back. His eyes have gone wide, his mouth dropping open. 

Niall feels it all in a rush -- humiliation, rejection, something deep down shattering with _hurt_.

“You’re too drunk,” Bressie’s saying, his hand still heavy on Niall’s knee. It’s taking everything in Niall’s resolve not to shake him off. He can’t have him touching him when he’s not actually _touching_. Bressie’s still babbling on. “It wouldn’t be fair. There’s other people who --”

It all drowns out as Niall turns to stare out of the window, his breath hitching in his tight throat. He doesn’t want to cry but he’s just so _tired_. 

“I don’t want you to regret anything in the morning,” Bressie’s saying, his hand squeezing again. Niall nods, his neck cracking with how jerky he is. 

“Niall,” Bressie pleads and heaves a big sigh. Niall can’t meet his eyes and even just the feel of his hands is making him feel hot. 

It’s all a muddle -- the long, lingering look from Eoghan, Niall’s hand in his, the feel of Laura’s body close to his. 

“M’fine,” he mutters and shrugs out of Bressie’s grip. The car finally reaches somewhere familiar, his gates looming into view. “See you tomorrow, yeah?”

Bressie looks disappointed, hanging back in the taxi. “Niall,” he says and Niall’s not sure what he wants -- clearly nothing that Niall wants to give him. 

“Later,” Niall says in a rush, wind picking up and chilling where he’s still damp and sticky. He presses his head to the rough wood of his gate, fumbling with the fob to get them to open up, his eyes closed to the bright headlights of the taxi. 

He hears the door of the taxi open again and with a gasp Niall makes it through his gate, slamming it shut behind him before his face crumples. 

He tries not to think of it as running away.

*

Time seems to stretch out from that. He disappears off on tour, throws himself into screaming fans and sunny arenas. He pushes himself on stage and in the studio and tries to bash out a few songs but they all sound like lovelorn sonnets. 

“Niall,” Liam says, very seriously to him one afternoon before they go and sound check. “You need to go and get laid. We can’t keep writing songs about delicate wrists and red lipstick.”

Niall feels himself blush. Louis’ already set off in a loud cackle over Liam’s shoulder. 

“I’m fine,” Niall tells him and turns away from Liam’s sympathetic gaze. 

Harry’s glancing over at him. His head had been buried in some magazine but he perks up at the mention of Niall’s love life -- Niall doesn’t like the implication that they’re all involved in it. 

“We could go out?” Harry suggests and Niall’s already shaking his head. 

“I don’t want to go out,” he says, ignoring the way everyone seems concerned over that. “Think I’m heading to the gym with Mark anyway.”

“Don’t do yourself in, yeah,” Zayn says and Niall wonders how he sounds so zen all the time. He smiles at him and picks up a microphone. “Let’s get this over and done with, yeah?”

Niall sighs. He hates that it seems like a chore. 

They run through a few songs, soundcheck ones that they’ll never play on stage. Zayn sits on an amp and run through his riffs effortlessly while Louis and Liam bounce about down at the end of the runway. 

“You’ll let me know if anything’s bothering you,” Harry says, walking over to him. Niall squints at him -- it’s an outside venue this time and the sun is beating down. It’ll be a sweat fest later. 

Harry sounds muffled through his in-ears but he’s so glad that he didn’t say through his microphone. “I’m fine,” Niall says but it sounds robotic -- he’s been saying it so often lately. 

Harry nods, seeming satisfied. “You’ll feel better after a trip home, see those friends of yours.”

“You are such a granda,” Niall tells him. “That is something your nan would say.”

Harry looks proud of himself for a moment and Niall’s glad that he’s distracted him from talking about home. Their next break has been edging ever closer and Niall’s been a mix of excited and terrified. He hasn’t really spoken to Bressie since he’d left him in the back of a taxi smelling faintly of Guinness. 

It hasn’t been completely conscious -- he has been very busy this tour. 

But then there’s the odd time when he’s tipping his suitcase out onto the floor of yet another hotel room and he comes across his shirt, too big for Niall to plausibly wear out in public but he felt the need to bring on tour anyway. He had to wash it so it doesn’t smell of Bressie or of Guinness but of his own washing powder instead so it’s futile anytime he drags it over his head and crawls into bed with it -- everything just smells of Niall anyway. He can’t trick himself into thinking that Bressie’s in bed with him.

That’s when he purposely doesn’t contact him -- when he’s floating into the forefront of his mind like he’s never been away. 

“Niall!” Louis yells through the microphone. “You missed your cue!”

Niall winces, tugs the in-ears out of his ear. “Think your mic is up too loud, mate,” Niall says just as loud into the microphone. “Better get that sorted.”

Liam sends him a disappointed glare across the stage but Louis just flips him a middle finger and doesn’t push further. Jon starts playing on the keys again -- Niall hadn’t even realised they had all stopped to watch. 

It’s hardly the most caustic thing they’ve snapped at each other but Niall knows it’s not something they expect from him. 

Niall grimaces, turns away from them all and sings his part.

*

“It’s a final test,” Laura says optimistically. She claps her hands and everything. “A formality, really. To make sure you haven‘t forgotten us while you were away.”

“I think I’m reconsidering my application,” Niall says and reclines back in the chair. They’ve brought a computer chair out into Niall’s kitchen floor and the balls of it click every time he rolls over the join between tiles. It creaks a little but Niall stays lounged in it, trying to look at complete ease. 

“It’s easy,” Eoghan reassures him. He’s standing by the fridge, a glass in his hand but it’s an ominous murky brown colour. “And then you’ll be part of the club.”

Niall bites his tongue on asking _why_ they’re still doing this but Eoghan’s laughing as he reaches into the fridge then, rooting around for something. 

“We should have a forfeit,” Eoghan says, coming out with a bottle of gin that’s been hiding in there since forever. “Make a dirty pint?”

Bressie raises his head, showing his interest. 

“No.” Niall shakes his head. He’s been on the receiving end of one of Eoghan’s dirty pints before. Except that time he had been in public and had to swallow down the way it regurgitated up his throat until he could push his way into the toilets and spit the majority of it back up into a urinal. It wasn’t his proudest moment. Bressie had grinned at him conspiratorially when he finally emerged from the loos and pulled him close and told him he wouldn’t tattle on him if he got the next round in. 

Niall glances over at him now and can see how Bressie’s probably thinking of the same story. 

“Niall loves a dirty pint,” Bressie says, lips turning up into a sly grin. “Don’t you, Niall?”

“Love ‘em,” Niall says. The wheels clack as he puts more of his weight on the back rest. “Not really a forfeit, is it?” 

Eoghan grins, hand still in the fridge. That’s the main difference in Eoghan’s cocktail making skills here -- he can add absolutely anything he finds into it. Niall swallows and tries to keep his face neutral when he pulls out a bottle of Willie’s wine. It’s been sitting in the door of the fridge, opened and long forgotten the entire time that Niall’s been home. He knows it’ll have gone off weeks ago.

“We shall see,” Eoghan says, his hand wrapped around the neck of Tesco Finest French dressing -- Laura’s already pulling a face.

Bressie launches into a complicated conversation about rules with Laura but Niall’s finding it hard to stay focused, instead welcoming the warm feeling that runs through his chest at watching Eoghan from the corner of his eye making himself at home in Niall’s kitchen. He reaches up to the cupboard with the glasses, already knowing where the pint ones are like he’s been here long enough that it’s familiar now.

For tradition’s sake, Eoghan goes around them all, holding the glass out for them to pour a bit of their drinks into it. It’s about a third full, Bressie’s beer making it froth up a bit. Eoghan holds the glass out and Niall pours his drink in. He’s been on vodka orange all night and he tries to get as much of it as he can to dilute the mess Eoghan’s making. 

“Ah ah,” Eoghan says, pulling back so fast that the side of the glass clacks off Niall’s and he sloshes orange juice over his bare feet. He curls them against the plastic feet of the chair. 

Niall doesn’t get to see exactly what he fills it up with, his back to them as he mixes in the corner of the kitchen but he can hear the hiss of the wine as it’s opened and his stomach rolls already at the thought of drinking fizzy, dead wine. 

Eoghan produces it with a flourish and sets on the island beside him. It’s a revolting pale shade of orangey brown, a slight foam at the top. There’s possibly something curdling in the middle where it’s starting to separate. It reminds Niall of the house parties his friends used to throw in the summers when they were younger and the dregs of all the bottles at the end of the night were all glugged into one bottle and it was kept until the next party, festering under one of their beds until someone’s parents went away long enough that they could throw another party. They’d all take a shot of it -- Niall gagging and holding his nose -- until it was empty and they could fill it up again ready for the next party. 

“Okay,” Laura says, pulling a chair to set in front of him. “Get the clock ready.”

“This is ridiculous,” Niall tells them all as Bressie produces his phone from his pocket. 

The questions are increasingly ridiculous too -- what is Laura’s middle name, what Bressie studied at uni, what Dustin the Turkey sang in the eurovision song contest. Niall answers them perfunctorily, Laura fighting to keep a straight face as he fails to answer Eoghan’s top three artists to dance behind. 

“How am I meant to get that?” Niall asks. “You hardly ever talk about that dark time in your life.”

“I can add anything I want to this,” Eoghan warns, tapping at the rim of the dirty pint with his finger. “Watch your mouth.”

“Just didn’t know you were a dancer,” Niall says sarcastically and Eoghan snorts, reaching for the dregs of the wine. 

“Trained by the best,” Bressie quotes Eoghan, putting on a daft voice. 

Eoghan glares at him. “Can make you drink this too.” 

“Double or quits,” Laura announces. “This is it, Niall. For the title.”

“For the glory!” Bressie shouts. He smacks his hand on his chest with a hollow thud.

“For Winterfell,” Eoghan cries. 

“There is a shelf,” Laura says ominously. They’ve all went silent, Niall can only hear the hum of the fridge and the thud of his heart. “In the world foods section at Tesco devoted to Irish imports. What are they?”

Bressie hits the timer straight away and Niall feels his panic spike. He hasn’t got a fucking clue -- it could be anything. He tries to think of what he misses about his kitchen at home, what the typical transplanted Irish person would want in the middle of London. 

“Mi Wadi!” he blurts out and Eoghan snorts so hard that Niall would be worried but he has more pressing matters to deal with. The seconds tick by and he’s not sure how many questions are left but he’s aware he’s running quickly out of time. “Red lemonade, Club orange!”

Laura’s listing them off on her fingers, one curling into his palm with every correct answer. He has no idea how many things he has to list but she’s still holding up her ring and pinkie.

“You thirsty?” Eoghan chirps from the end of the sofa once he’s regained composure. “I have a pint that could sort that out.”

“Tea,” Niall blurts out. Because. Of course.

Laura holds up her hand, two fingers still in the air. “What type?” 

She’s off her seat, looking expectant and Niall knows this is the clincher. Lyons or Barry’s. Barry’s or Lyons. Niall’s palms start to sweat against his thighs. 

“Barry’s,” he says carefully, ignoring the instant wave of regret. The room is at an absolute silence as Laura pulls a pained expression. 

“It’s Punjana,” she says, shaking her head and easing herself back into the chair. 

Eoghan and Bressie crow with delight but Niall can already feel himself working up to outraged. “Punjana?!” he yelps. “What the clean fuck?”

Laura holds her hands up, palms facing him. Niall can see the smeared answers to the questions she had written there. “That’s just how it goes Niall.”

“Punjana,” Niall says again, repeating it just to make sure. Bressie and Eoghan have started laughing again but Niall feels outdone by. “Are you sure it’s Punjana?”

Laura starts to laugh now. “Do you want to go on a trip and find out?” 

It’s well into the early hours of the morning now, but it would probably be open. Niall nearly says yes. 

“Look it up online,” Niall says. 

Laura shakes her head. “It has to be our local one. I seen it today.”

“Why would they have it on their website?” Bressie asks. He’s peering into his glass and looking rather forlorn that it’s empty. 

“Look it up!” Niall half shouts. Eoghan’s already tugging the iPad closer to him, grinning through his teeth. 

Bressie snorts as he reads over his shoulder. “Irish global food aisle. That’ll not turn up any resu-- oh.”

Niall rolls his chair over to them, the wheels clicking loudly as it glides. He doesn’t care if he’s ruining the marble. “Well?”

Eoghan leans back laughing and Bressie grins. “Barry’s.”

He turns the iPad over so Niall can see the box sitting proudly between the option for a Golden Crisp and Erin’s potato and leek soup. 

“See!” he says triumphantly, spinning in the chair to look at Laura. She’s shaking her head but Niall can see how she’s fighting a smile. “Barry’s. I told you!”

“It’s definitely Punjana at the one down the road!” she defends herself but Niall’s only half listening to her because Bressie has clapped his hands on Niall’s shoulders, rubbing at them while him and Eoghan start to shout in celebration. 

“Does this mean I win?” Niall asks. He’s still got his hands in the air in case he’s got more to celebrate. 

“You win the pleasure of a cocktail!” Eoghan cheers and the glass is presented to him. 

Niall looks away. “Don’t make me drink this.”

“For the glory,” Laura intones. 

Niall grimaces and takes the pint glass off Eoghan. He looks gleeful as he settles down to watch him. Niall nearly gags -- the glass feels so heavy in his hand.

“Take the leprechaun off!” 

*

It’s too bright when he wakes up, his eyes caked with sleep. He moans, pushing his head further into his pillow before he realises there’s a hand on his shoulder, thin fingers pressed into the crease of his t-shirt. 

“Mmm?” he asks, keeping his eyes closed because it’s blissfully dark behind them. 

“Where’s your keys?” Laura asks and Niall blinks his eyes open to peer up at her. She still has her hand on his shoulder, the heat of it seeping into his skin. 

“Wha?” he asks as he slowly regains consciousness. She’s dressed in last night’s clothes but he would never have known if he hadn’t have seen her in them. Her hair is pulled back, her face slightly pale under the thin layer of make-up she’s obviously just done. She looks beautiful and Niall stares at her for a moment, makes the excuse to himself that he’s still properly waking up. 

She smiles then, drops her weight onto one foot and laughs at him. “Didn’t realise you were so slow to wake up.”

Niall smiles then, rolls onto his back so he can see her properly. He clears his throat. “What’s up?” 

“Was gonna go and get some stuff for breakfast. Or maybe do dinner if you don’t mind me taking over your kitchen?”

Niall shakes his head. He’d never turn down Laura’s cooking. 

“You gonna do it all organic and vegan and shit?” Niall checks, just in case and Laura grins at him again. 

“It’s Sunday, and we are all massively hungover,” she says but doesn’t look it. Niall assumes he looks as bad as he feels. “Think we deserve a day off, yeah?”

“It is the Lord’s day, after all,” Niall says jokingly and tries to blink out the image of slipping into a pew with her at mass. He doesn’t know where it comes from -- he hasn’t went to mass in over a year. Didn’t even go last Christmas. There’s a ping of guilt there and he nearly laughs to himself but there’s something so settling of the thought. 

Laura’s still looking at him expectantly and Niall stretches, wakes himself up properly. He can’t remember heading to bed and he slides his hand down his hip to see if he’s still wearing clothes. His fingertips brush over the thick elastic of his boxers. 

“I’ll go with you,” he says and tries to remember where he threw his keys yesterday. She smiles, nods once and then steps back. She hovers for a moment and Niall isn’t sure if she’s hesitating before she realises that she’s been caught and then moves towards the door. 

“I’ll meet you downstairs.” She smiles at him softly again before slipping out the door. 

“Ok,” Niall says even though she’s gone and pulls himself out of bed. His shirt is twisted around his chest, his boxers sliding low from where he’s probably had his hands in the middle of the night. He pulls them up a bit, suddenly glad that Laura had left before he had gotten up. 

He doesn’t bother trying to make himself presentable, just pulls on a pair of jeans that are half hanging out of the hamper in the corner of the room and a loose jumper that looks vaguely clean. 

The door to the guest room is ajar as Niall passes and he can’t help but peek in. Eoghan and Bressie are still out cold, both of them sprawled across either side of the bed. Bressie’s curled around his pillow, his arm pushed up under his head and Eoghan’s half tangled in the sheet so it’s slipping low enough on Bressie that Niall can see the small of his back. There’s a space between them that Laura could just about fit. Niall feels a quick swoop of guilt -- they all could’ve fitted comfortably in his bed just down the hall. 

Laura’s sitting on the edge of the sofa in the living room when he makes it down, her phone linked up to the charger in the wall. She’s got a jacket from somewhere and it looks just a hint too big on her as she stands up. 

He tugs at the collar and she grins, her eyes glancing away as she laughs. “Had a look around your coat cupboard.”

Niall laughs and heads towards it himself, reaching in and grabbing the first jacket he touches to pull on. He can hear the rain against the glass in the kitchen. 

“Looks good on you,” Niall mutters and then turns towards the table in the corner of his living room, feeling his cheeks burn. 

Laura doesn’t call him out on his pathetic attempt at flirting, just waits until he finds his keys in the clutter on his table and then follows him out to the garage. 

Tesco is as busy as it is on a normal Sunday lunchtime, which is to say, pretty fucking busy. He pulls on a hat that he finds lodged down the side of the driver’s seat and follows Laura in with his head ducked down.

“This is why I could’ve just gone,” Laura reminds him as they both pick up a basket by the door. Niall’s already attracting a few stares as they walk past the magazines and head towards the vegetables. 

Niall shrugs. “They’re all looking at you, anyway.”

Laura snorts, probably not expecting Niall’s statement but Niall just stares straight in front of him, reaching for a bag of potatoes instead of wishing for the ground to swallow him up. 

“You doing a roast, yeah?” Niall asks, already sliding over to the carrots. 

Laura laughs. “Looks like it.”

They work their way round the shop, Niall trying to look inconspicuous as he grabs a bottle of pure orange in the juice aisle and drinks most of it as they work through the meat and yoghurt aisles, the layout the same as every Tesco he’s ever been in. The meat counter looks strange without the familiar face of his dad behind it. By the time they’re ready to hit the checkouts they’ve amassed a fifty-fifty ratio of junk food to dinner items. 

“Just one more thing to get,” Laura tells him and leads him off down an aisle for baking essentials. Niall’s arms are aching -- his basket full of all the heavy items that he didn’t want Laura to carry -- but he follows her gamely until they come to a stop in a section of unfamiliar food. He glances over the rows of sauerkraut and frankfurter sausages disinterestedly. He’s starting to wilt, a second wave of his hangover kicking in full throttle. 

“Laura,” he says warningly as he starts to catch on. Laura grins at him over her shoulder. “I’m not in the right frame of mind for this.”

She laughs and comes to a stop beside the Irish shelf. She pulls a box of Punjana off the third one, just at shoulder height and shows it to him. “See!” 

Niall shakes his head. “I still think I won fair and square. It was on the website.”

Laura sticks her tongue out at him and shoves the tea back onto the shelf. “Just proving my point. I can rest easy now.”

“I’m glad,” Niall says and watches as she reaches up on her tiptoes to get a packet of Kimberley biscuits down off the top shelf. Niall tries not to stare at her lean body. “Glad I won,” Niall says quickly to cover himself.

“I’m glad you won too,” she tells him, turning round and heaving her basket up again, leading them off towards the checkout. “I’d hate to actually have to throw you out of our group.”

“But who would you look after then?” Niall asks as they find a conveyor belt only half full and start unloading their shopping. It’s been ages since he’s done the grocery shopping the old fashioned way. Normally Willie’s got the essentials in or Niall scrolls through the Ocado website at four in the morning when he’s just back from tour, still up with jetlag. It’s nice to do it this way, to carry bags of potatoes for Laura and to watch as she lays it all out on the conveyor belt in a practised way so it’s easier for them to pack at the other end. 

He slaps her hand away when she goes to pay, shoving his card into the machine before she has any chance to put up any real fight. She frowns at him but it just makes her look softer, like her forehead is made out of marshmallow. There's lipstick lingering at the corner of her mouth, a smudge of black mascara that she's missed.

“You’re the one making the dinner,” he reasons with her. “I’m only going home to lie on my sofa and eat crisps. It’s the least I could do.”

“I thought I was looking after you?” Laura says and Niall catches the way the girl behind the checkout glances up. 

He smiles anyway and shrugs, fitting his fingers through handles of three plastic bags. “Don’t worry. You’re doing a good job.”

She flushes a bit, ducks her head and grabs the final bag of shopping and follows him back out to the car. 

*

It feels like Christmas rolls around quickly -- with Laura heading off to Australia for I’m a Celeb and Bressie heading back to Dublin for a few things. 

“It’s from all of us,” Laura says. She’s sitting on the edge of the coffee table so she can be right in front of him, her knees nearly pressed to his. Bressie’s standing beside her, blocking out the blink of the fairy lights around Laura’s living room windows. Niall wonders what they look like from the street, awash of twinkling reds and greens. 

They’re gathered around Laura’s Christmas tree. This year she’s put it up early, the lights twinkling since as soon in November that she could get away with. It’s only them and Niall doesn’t think too much into that. He wants to. He wants to give into that runny, warm giddy feeling in his tummy that out of everyone, they only invited him.

She had made mulled wine. Lots of mulled wine and Niall had drank it, taking in the cloved spices and orangey twinge to it. He normally doesn’t drink wine but it’s nice warm, supped out of one of Laura’s dainty mugs. 

It’s went to his head, made the lights blur into the tinsel and he feels warm ensconced in one of her fluffy throws. Last year, last year had been completely different. It’d been new and awkward and forced. Niall can’t believe how much has changed.

“That’s not how Secret Santa works,” Niall feels the need to point out because if he tries to say anything like _you shouldn’t have_ or _thank you_ it’ll get caught in his throat where he’s starting to choke up. It’s a little box, wrapped perfectly in gold and silver wrapping paper, a little blue bow perched on the corner. The card is just his name in Laura’s perfectly pretty handwriting. 

“Shut it and open it,” Eoghan says, laughing from the other side of the coffee table. He’s in the armchair near the door but he’s sitting forward, completely focused on Niall. 

It makes Niall feel nervous, watched by the three of them. “What is it?” 

“Open it and find out!” Laura laughs, her hands coming down on Niall’s knee caps. She rubs her thumbs over the denim, presses into the soft give of his muscle. Niall never wants her to stop. 

“Happy Christmas,” Bressie grins from over her shoulder, moving closer to see. “In November.”

“Nov-ismas,” Eoghan says, curling a hand around a cushion. “Chris-ember.”

“Shut up,” Bressie advises him and Laura laughs, her fingers gripping tighter for a moment. 

Niall laughs and pulls at the edge of the wrapping paper. He hears Laura huff a laugh at how gentle he’s being but he doesn’t get presents that often anymore -- he gets the odd pair of pants off his mum and his dad still buys him the new Derby strip without fail each season but he can get himself everything he ever wants so he doesn’t get little surprise packages like this very often. 

It’s a bracelet, nestled deep down into silver tissue paper. He pulls it out carefully, rubbing his thumb over the edge of it. There’s numbers pressed into it, a set of coordinates carved into the metal. 

“Is this another test?” Niall asks, voice going a bit hoarse. “Do I have to break the code?”

Laura laughs softly. “No more tests. Think you’re here for good.”

“It’s Mullingar on the map,” Bressie tells him, his voice low. “So you’ll always have a little bit of home when you’re out on the road.”

Niall stares at it for a long time. Long enough for Laura to squeeze at his knee urgently. 

“You okay?” she asks in a whisper. Niall can see from the corner of his eye that Eoghan’s shuffled to the edge of his seat again, watching him carefully. 

Bressie peers closer. “Niall?” 

“Thank you,” Niall says but his voice comes out sort of strained, pulled taut over his vocal cords. He really wasn’t expecting anything like this. He turns it over in his hands, breath catching in his throat when he catches the initials engraved on the inside. _Love from L, E, N._

“Aw,” Eoghan croons, leaning over the coffee table to pat at his shoulder. Laura’s laughing again, her hand slipping up over his leg to settle near his thigh as she leans in. 

“You’re welcome,” she says and she suddenly kisses his forehead. Her hair falls around his face, shrouding them for a moment until it’s just her and him. She smells floral and warm like skin.

“It’s not home though,” Niall whispers. His tongue's loose this evening and he can’t help himself. He’s still got a firm grip on the bracelet, his thumb over the letters until it’s warm in his hand.

Laura laughs and pulls back. Her eyebrow quirking, “What?”

“It’s not home,” he tells her, flicking his gaze over her shoulder to both Eoghan and Bressie. “This feels more like home. Here. With --”

Laura’s face softens and Bressie leans in, patting him on the shoulder until they’re all dragging him into a hug. 

*

He doesn’t tell them that he’s away to Colorado. He doesn’t mention it in their little group chat they’ve got going. There’s never a right moment to slip it in between the bickering and banter that’s always changing on Whatsapp. They’d been nattering on about their plans for New Year, moaning about how they over indulged on St. Stephen’s Day pints. Laura and Eoghan are still holed up in her childhood bed at home in Bray. Bressie at home to see his parents. 

It leaves a bad taste in his mouth, to know that he’s off without saying a word to them. He’s told the boys, he had to because it’s been planned for weeks. It affects them all as much as it affects him. Most of his family know, his granny lighting half of St. Paul’s candles for him every day since he broke the news. 

Everyone who needs told has been.

Except it feels like it’s a thing he should tell them too. There’s guilt sinking into his bones as he reclines back in his seat, ears popping as they start to descend. His mum gives him a reassuring look, reaching over to pat at his hand. She thinks he’s worried about the operation. He can see it in her eyes. And he is but there’s something else bubbling in there too, toxic guilt tangling up in his gut. 

He _wants_ to tell them. Have Eoghan reassure him that it’ll all go fine, have Laura wrap him up in a warm hug, let Bressie fuss and promise to help him get fit again. He wants to blurt out that he’s scared, that he can’t stop thinking about what’ll happen _after_ , how he‘s worried about fucking up his whole future for the sake of aching knees and ice baths. 

But it’s too late now, they’re already touching down. He can’t tell them over the phone, he can’t worry them. He squeezes his eyes shut and tamps down the fear that he’s just ruined everything he’s built with them in one fell swoop. 

“It’ll be fine,” his mum says and fusses with gathering his stuff up. Niall ignores her and clears his throat, unsurprised to feel something lodged there. 

“I know,” he tells her because he hasn’t said anything since New York. “It’ll all work out.”

He means it to be reassuring but there’s a wobble in it. Maura looks at him, cocks her head to the side and the back of Niall’s throat burns. He’s seen this look one too many times to not know what it means. 

He clears his throat and pushes out into the aisle of the plane. “Let’s go get a new knee.”

He’s looped on painkillers until he’s back in London, if he’s being honest with himself. A whole seven days wiped from his brain. The flight home seems like a dream, the crutches and the wheelchair and the ricocheting pain through his knee as he banged his way out of the hospital three days too early against medical advice. It had been more invasive than they had intended but Niall couldn't hack the dry air conditioning and the softness of sheets that he was paying over the odds for in the private hospital that still seemed too sterile. 

His mother had fussed, told him to wise up but then kissed his forehead, looking more relieved than she’d ever let on as Niall pasted a smile onto his face. He had let her clutch at his hand the whole way home, dozed off on her shoulder in the taxi from Heathrow and surmises that she somehow got him inside because when he wakes up it’s to the view of his own ceiling. 

“Hello?” Niall croaks because he’s used to someone sitting vigil beside his bedside or waking up to a nurse yanking at all sorts of tubes and clickers coming out of his body. 

It’s the first lucid wake up he’s had all week and he freezes in the sheets, trying to work out if that’s a good or a bad thing. 

He needs a glass of water and someone to help him out of bed so he can go and take a piss. There’s a thrum of longing for those few uncomfortable days where his catheter was his unknowing best friend. 

His knee twinges and he hasn’t even moved yet. Niall can feel his heart already start to pump, he knows what’s coming -- that sharp, intense pain curling down his leg. He’s not felt anything like it. It can’t be compared to the dull ache from before, this is much more visceral. More aggressive every time he even thinks about wriggling his toes. 

He lets out a pathetic whine, too groggy from sleep and pissed off to really care if anyone can hear him. He curls his hand in the sheets, uses it to steady himself as he pulls himself into a sitting position. 

His leg feels like a dead weight, too heavy for him to ever lift again. His whole frame aches, his hips and his thigh. His entire right hand side from favouring it all the time. His wrists are stiff from the crutches, thick red bruises working their way into his skin from the handles. 

He drags his foot off the bed, holding his hand tight around his thigh to try and alleviate the pressure. He needs to change his bandage, drain his knee. His stomach rolls at the thought of it. He never wants to touch it again, the skin too raw, the wound still too sensitive. His doctor had told him to walk on it, to try it and see how far he can push himself. He told him to rip off his bandages and get used to looking at it. Niall had vomited into a little paper tray and clicked his morphine higher the first time he’d tried, the scar a ragged and swollen line of caked blood and puss. 

He doesn’t have that luxury now. 

He tests his knee and it gives straight away, sharp blinding pain radiating down his calf. 

“Fuck,” he cries loudly and slams his fist down on his bedside table. It’s as cluttered as it was before he left, loose change and random tat skittering across the wood. He bangs it again, fingers clenched and biting into his other palm to detract from the intensity in his leg.

“What are you at?” Comes a voice from the doorway and Niall doesn’t want to look up for a moment, the sound of it making embarrassment burn through his throat. His vision blurs a bit and he hates himself for tearing up. 

“Going for a piss,” he tells the carpet and there’s a scoff from the door before the sound of it being pushed open further. 

“And you thought you’d do that yourself then?” Laura asks, suddenly bending down and appearing in his eyeline. Niall lets go of a breath, it’s so lovely to see her, even if he looks and feels like shit. She gives him a small smile and Niall wants to tuck that smile into his pocket for when he‘s feeling blue. “How’re you feeling?” 

“Sore,” he says and he can’t lie to her. Not anymore, it feels like he’s lied to her too much already. His throat suddenly feels tight, like he could properly cry. “Like I’m going to wet the bed and my leg‘s going to fall off.”

She laughs gently and stands up, offering him a slim hand. She’s dressed in a soft, creased t-shirt that Niall’s seen somewhere before and looks a bit sleep rumpled herself. Niall wonders when she got here but he doesn’t have the breath to ask her because she’s heaving him off the bed and onto his good foot. 

“Christ,” Niall groans and lets Laura shoulder all his weight. He hears her grunt of exertion and somewhere, deep down in his body -- if there’s any of it left that is not in wriggled with pain -- he’d feel bad. “This is torture.”

“We’ll get you a cup of tea in a minute, some of those nice tablets that you seem to like,” Laura tells him, huffing out a breath as they creep across the carpet towards the en-suite. 

Niall would ask how she knows about his medication but he can’t catch the breath to speak so he keeps his focus on moving on, keeping his step light on his toes. It feels like limping will help him by keeping that knee stiff even if it goes against everything that had been drilled into him at his physio meeting before he left. He never wants to move his leg again. If he leaves it alone it’ll get better, what does the doctor know? 

He grips at the window sill to piss but he hasn’t got enough balance to stand on one foot so Laura stands beside him, a hand on his shoulder to steady him. She’s entirely too close to him and Niall feels a hot rush of embarrassment as she gently helps him ease his pyjama bottoms down far enough. 

“You should try sitting,” she says lightly and Niall can hear the awkwardness in her tone where she‘s forcing it to be funny. “So much easier, I’d know.”

He doesn’t risk a glance at her but he knows that she’d be offering him a cheeky smirk to make him laugh. It doesn’t sound much easier, stretching his knee as he sits upright. It would be at a different angle to his hips. His knee throbs as he thinks about it. 

“Maybe next time,” Niall says but his voice is too shaky to carry on the joke. She squeezes his shoulder and from the corner of his eye he can see her avert her eyes. 

His bladder pulses, a sharp pain in his belly of being too full but the longer he aims, the longer it becomes clear he’s going nowhere. Somewhere in the fog in his brain he can’t believe that _this_ is the first time Laura’s seeing his dick. He’d have thought it would a bit more grander, that first time. And that it would possibly be a different bodily fluid flying out of it. 

He snorts out a shocked laugh -- clearly some of the painkillers are still working through his system. 

“Stage fright,” Niall says, some semblance of a joke in there somewhere but Laura doesn’t laugh. His stomach turns over and he stares at the rim of his toilet bowl for a moment longer. He’s never been this shy before, half the crew has seen him naked. But then again he’s doesn’t give a shit what they think, he’s never had the person he’s trying to impress hold him up to piss before.

“Just pee, would you?” Laura says to him with a sigh. “I’m not going to think any less of you.”

Niall’s cheeks burn. His belly goes sharp and just when he thinks he can’t hold anymore, he lets go. Laura hums with approval at the first dribble and Niall clenches his eyes shut. It sounds so _loud._

“There we go, no one needs to know,” Laura says as he finishes off. Her hand is still clenched in the t-shirt he slept in. 

“Thanks,” he mumbles, wobbling slightly as he pulls his bottoms up again one handed. 

“What are friends for?” Laura asks him rhetorically and Niall manages to meet her face on for the first time since they’ve entered the bathroom. She looks tired, her eyes pinched and shadowed with black. She’s not wearing any makeup and it’s easy to see this way, the freckles on her forehead and how her cheeks are a tinged a natural pale rose. 

He gives her a smile and watches as her face hardens slightly. 

“I’m going to give you exactly one weeks pass,” she tells him, voice edging on threatening. “And then when you’re feeling all better I’m going to make you feel like shit again for not telling me. _And_ for letting us find out on the fucking internet of all places.” She heaves a sigh and her face twists, like she’s got plenty more to say but can’t because he’s still feeling so poorly. “I’ve been-- _we’ve_ been worried sick.”

Niall’s face falls. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” she says and gives his shoulder another squeeze. “But focus on getting better. All that’s to come.”

Niall laughs despite the situation and then she leans in very carefully, still holding most of his weight but manages to hug around him at the same time. 

Niall sighs into it, noses dipping into the soft skin of her shoulder. The t-shirt slips a bit and Niall knows where he recognises it from now -- some photoshoot he’d done months ago. It makes his belly go warm and for a moment, it takes his mind away from the searing pain in his leg. He likes the thought of her in his clothes, the way they fit her slightly loosely round the shoulders. He thinks of her in one of Bressie’s, hem hitting her thigh. He sighs out, image changing subtly in his head until it’s him standing in one of Bressie’s shirts. 

“Glad you’re ok,” she whispers to him, breath hot against his ear. Niall focuses on it instead of the swimmy images in his head. “I’m so, so glad.”

“Me too,” Niall tells her and dares to let his lips brush against the soft skin of her neck. He feels her shiver and he needs to reach out to steady himself against the sink. She pulls back then, masking whatever expression that’s on her face with a rough cough. 

“Let’s get back to bed, yeah?” she says. “Your mam’s probably up by now.”

She helps back into bed, watching carefully as he winces and swears under his breath until he’s settled. 

“I’m not keeping you from anything?” he asks when instead of leaving the room she plops herself into the other side of the bed. 

“No,” she says with a grin and burrows in close to him under the covers. He can feel the heat of her legs beside his and it makes him want to nudge against her, feel the smooth of her skin with his feet but he can’t, not if he wants to keep his leg as still as possible. “Do you think I would be leaving when your mam’s made soup and I got you a copy of the War of the Buttons for a euro in Golden Discs before I came back to London? Do you know how long it‘s been since I‘ve seen that?” 

Niall laughs. He’s not sure if he has the concentration to watch movies all day but he likes that Laura’s been thinking about it. “You’ve got the whole day all planned out.”

Laura gives him a small side, burrowing further down into the duvet. “I’m not letting you out of my sight until you feel better.” 

She tips her head to the side, gently resting her cheek against his shoulder. Niall smiles down at the top of her head. 

“I’m feeling better already.”

*

“She really cares for you, you know,” his mum says casually from where she’s knelt on the floor beside him. Niall feels his insides clench and he stares at the framed poster behind her head. It’s some fancy piece of art that Laura had picked up for him as a housewarming present. She’s already blushed prettily when she realised where he’d put it. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Niall mutters and tries not to hiss in pain as his mum starts to swab around his cut. This is by far the worst part of his day. His mum isn’t as careful as he would possibly like when it comes to redressing his wounds. He could ask Laura to do it but he’s worried that he’s guilting her into being his fully fledged nurse at this rate. She’d slipped out of the house this morning just before Niall’s lunch and hasn’t returned yet. Niall’s starting to think she’ll not come back, thin threads of worry weaving their way into his gut.

“Now, don’t be like that,” Maura mutters, poking him in the swollen flesh above his knee. 

“Fucking hell,” Niall yelps and snaps his eyes to look at her. “What was that?”

Maura grins and then gets back to cleaning him up. He blanches at the sight and then looks away. He doesn’t need to watch. Everything in a metre radius of his knee looks too pointy. 

“She’s been here since we got here,” his mum continues a few minutes later after the smell of antiseptic has permeated the air and Niall feels slightly more light headed. She gave him a few co-codamol before she started and they’re finally starting to kick in. “Mostly in _your_ bed.”

Niall feels too warm as she starts to wrap his knee again. He squints up at the ceiling, follows the moulding around the edge that matches the décor of the room. She’s right -- Laura has been in his bed for the past few days. She fell asleep next to him just as their film was ending and never really left. Niall had been doped up on his nighttime tablets but had fought the drowsy fog long enough to take in the way she had curled carefully into his side. He had fell asleep sharing a breath with her and woke up to see her already smiling softly at him. 

His mother hums questioningly at him and Niall fights a sigh. “Nothing’s going on.” 

“But you want there to be,” she says and Niall hates her for being so perceptive. Now isn’t really the time to break it to your mother that you wished you were in a four-way polygamous relationship. 

“Well, I think she’s lovely,” his mother concludes in that way she always seems to be able to. She says it like she’s admiring one of Theo’s wonky fingerpaintings -- many of which are now strung up on the footboard of his bed. They don’t really look like anything, just a mess of blues and reds until it all mixes into a splodge of brown. Niall doesn’t think he has a future in art. And neither does his mother when she’s out of earshot of Greg. 

“She was very helpful with you,” she keeps going, patting gently at his good knee. He jerks away from her instinctively and the pain judders up his leg again. He swears and his mother gives him a look. “She’s very patient, even when you swear like that at her.”

“She’s used to it,” Niall tells her, finally letting a grin creep onto his face. “Just like you.” Maura tuts but she’s smiling too as she gets to her feet. 

“She helps with the tea and I’ve spoken to her mother on the phone and she seems lovely too,” Maura natters on and Niall can’t help roll his eyes. Of course she has. His mum always seems to be able to stick her nose into everything -- even strangers’ parents business.

He lets her help him to his feet. He’s been getting better at this bit, straightening out his leg enough to put a bit more weight on it. It still stings but it’s dulled by the painkillers as they fizz through his system. 

“And I’m sure you’d prefer if she gave you a sponge bath instead of me,” Maura points out as he leans as much weight as he can get away with on her shoulder and the rest on a clunky crutch he’s got from the doctor. 

“Christ,” he mutters. “Thought about this long have you?”

“No,” she says and it’s not defensive, just strangely sad. Niall’s heart sinks. “I’ve got plenty of other things to be worrying about.”

She squeezes at his waist and Niall feels a throb of guilt. He supposes he might not have been appreciating her help as much as he could be. 

“Thanks, ma,” he tells her. She smiles up at him as they reach the top of the stairs. This is the hard bit and it makes him rue the fact that he demanded to be put upstairs to bed in the first place. He has enough living rooms on the first floor that he could’ve turned into a bed for a week but his previous self hadn’t been so forward thinking. He had also been on Tramadol and God knows what else so he’s not sure why they listened to him in the first place. 

“I’ll be glad when Bressie gets here,” his mum says, huffing out a breath as they shuffle down the first one. Niall’s considering just giving up here on the top step. “He can just carry you back up.”

Niall’s neck burns at the thought, and he knows it’s because he likes it entirely more than his mother does. She snorts then, making them pause and shake in the middle of the stairs. 

“He could help you with the sponge baths too,” she says and Niall bites his tongue. What the fuck did he say when he was out of his mind on drugs?

*

“There’s the patient,” Louis croons as he hobbles through the door. Niall glances up, shows him his smile and then goes back to watching the floor as he inches across it. It’s fucking freezing outside and slippery too, so he’s being extra careful.

They’re at a studio in the arse of nowhere, trying to dodge fans and paparazzi as they get stuck into writing. Niall hadn’t been planning to turn up to any of these sessions but Louis had rang just when Niall was reaching breaking point with his mother this morning, her bedside manner wearing thin in the wake of Laura heading back to her work commitments. He misses having a buffer to alleviate his mother’s brusque bedside manner and jumped at the chance to finally get out of the house. 

“Nah,” Niall shakes his head and grins at him before looking back down at the floor. Louis makes no effort to help him, not that he expected him to. “I’m grand now. Can piss by myself and everything.”

Louis gives him a round of applause but it sounds slightly flat with just one person in the room. Niall laughs, he’s missed him. 

“Well,” Louis says, finally shoving all the papers on the space on the sofa beside him onto the floor. “You must have a team of pretty nurses on hand then. You certainly look chipper.”

Niall snorts and all but collapses into the sofa. His head is starting to hurt from concentrating so hard, in the past few days all Niall’s had to do is manage his Sky planner. 

They don’t get much actual work done -- well Niall doesn’t. Louis slips off outside to smoke with a few guys that Niall’s never met before. Niall would normally go too but it’s too so much effort to get into the little studio that he can’t be bothered. Plus it’s cold outside and it seeps into his bones in the most horrible way. Makes him stiff and not want to move. 

He’s missed enough studio days to really feel like he’s lagging behind. Louis natters on about titles and chord progressions that Niall’s in the dark about, he sings snatches of songs at him expectantly but Niall never catches on. He hums along a bit, some of them sounding familiar but the words are off until Louis catches on that he’s bullshitting. 

“You not bring your guitar?” Louis asks him a few hours in, just when Niall’s starting to fade. It’s hard to keep his concentration up, especially with so many people in the room. 

“Couldn’t really manage it,” Niall tells him but has to repeat himself so Louis can hear. He rolls his head against the back of the sofa. He’s got his leg propped up on the table in front of him but it’s not high enough and it’s a bit of a stretch. People keep knocking the other side of it, the surface jerking every so often that sends bumps of pain right up into the crease of his groin. It happens again and Niall tries to steady himself, hold his leg rigid for a moment. It takes effort not to hiss in pain, his bottom lip cracking as he bites into it. 

He reaches into his pocket, the foil crinkling as he pulls out the blister packet of tablets he had grabbed this morning before he left the house. He’s been putting this off while he’s been here but he’s starting to really notice that he’s skipped out on his routine of medication. Laura had had him regimented, little cups of water every four hours to wash them down with. These are the pink shiny ones that make him feel nice and looped out. He pushes one out with his thumb, right onto his tongue and ignores the look that Louis is giving him. 

“You alright?” Louis asks him bluntly when Niall’s glugged down half his bottle of lukewarm water. The big ones still get stuck in his throat, no matter how many he has to take everyday. 

“Yeah,” Niall nods. “Just lost track of time.”

“You sore?” Louis asks. He tips himself onto his side so he’s closer to where Niall’s been sitting for the past hour. His arse is starting to go numb but he doesn’t want to stand up yet, it’s too much effort. 

“I’m getting used to it,” Niall tells him and pops a second tablet into his mouth. 

Louis smiles at him but it’s a bit crooked with the way he’s lying sideways. “Wanna give your old pal Louis one?”

Niall snorts and pockets the tablets again. “Get your own reconstructive surgery.”

Louis pouts, rolls his head forward and head butts Niall in the leg, right above his knee. 

If Niall had stuck to his schedule he doesn’t think it would’ve hurt but he’s been off his medication for too long, any resistance has drained out of him and it makes him wince and jerk away. 

“Can I see it?” Louis asks, not really noticing the way Niall’s gritting his teeth. He looks up at him expectantly and Niall shrugs.

“Can’t move my leg too much,” he says. He doesn’t want to look at it, he’s already feeling queasy. 

Louis doesn’t look impressed. “Well, we won’t let that stop us. Will we?”

Niall’s stomach sinks. “I guess we won’t.”

Louis gets up, disappears off down into the kitchen of the studio. The people around him are all chattering away and Niall desperately wishes he had a beer to drink. It would make it easier for him to just launch into conversation with them. 

He leans as far as he can to the side, his fingertips brushing the side of Louis’ bottle of beer. He looks like a twat, stretched across the sofa but he ignores the other people in the room until he can hook a finger around the neck of the bottle. 

Louis returns just as Niall’s righting himself. 

“Let’s see then,” Louis calls, climbs over a few people who have migrated onto the floor. They’ve stopped even bothering going out to smoke and Niall’s eyes sting with it, the room filling up quickly. 

He produces a pair of scissors from behind his back and Niall wants to draw his knee up to his chest and shove him away but he can’t move that fast so Louis’ pulling at the loose material of his joggers before Niall can really stop him. 

“Just be careful,” Niall warns and Louis laughs, a bright bark that reminds Niall of how he never seems to get tired anymore. Niall feels exhausted. 

“I’m always careful, me,” Louis mumbles, his tongue poking out of his mouth as he snips at the fabric. Niall watches him, feeling a bit detached. These were his favourite pair of Canterbury’s, soft and stretched perfectly.

“Oooh,” Louis says suddenly, peeling back the flaps he’s cut into the material. Niall glances away, catches how some of Louis’ friends on the floor have started to take more notice to him. He imagines this is what animals at the zoo feel like -- having people nosying at you all day just because you’re a little bit different now. It’s nothing like the feeling on stage or even when he’s been surrounded by paparazzi. That’s a more elusive type of feeling being watched. He’s putting on a show -- it feels natural to be the centre of attention there. 

“Sick,” Louis breathes, his hand ghosting over his knee cap. 

“No touching,” Niall says, meaning for it to come out sharp. His words slur a bit and Niall knows he’s taken too many tablets.

Louis laughs, his grin turning wicked when he glances up at him. “Aw mate,” Louis says, his face softening with concern. Niall’s forgotten how Louis can switch to Mother Hen within moments as he reaches forward and sets his palm against Niall‘s forehead. It‘s cool against Niall‘s clammy skin. “You don’t look well. Need your bed, yeah?” 

Niall jerks his shoulder. He does need his bed. It’s all he wants right now, to curl up on something soft and raise his leg up to alleviate the pressure. Maybe find a basin to puke into. “I’m ok,” Niall says instead, pretending that the throb in his leg isn’t getting worse as the night wears on. 

Louis gives him a disbelieving look but doesn’t push. He looks wired, his eyes bright and wide. Niall loves to see how into it he gets, constantly piping up with ideas for songs. Niall’s enthusiasm has waned throughout the evening as he had picked at his dinner and glugged enough water to combat his constant dry mouth. 

Louis keeps an eye on him but it doesn’t take long for him to get distracted away, the pencil behind his ear wearing down shorter and shorter every time he pulls it out to scribble lyrics across the sheets spread across the shiny coffee table. 

Niall sighs. He feels artificially warm, too clammy in his t-shirt and shorn joggers. His knee is itchy again, like he’s been getting used to and Niall closes his eyes, finds the will to not reach down and scrape his nails across the skin where it’s knitting together. 

It feels like hardly seconds until he opens his eyes again but Bressie’s face is swimming in front of him, Louis hovering at his elbow. 

“Hello,” Niall mutters. It’s been ages since he’s seen him.

Bressie frowns at him. “You okay?”

Niall drops his head down until his chin is nearly resting on his chest. 

“I’ll take that as a no,” he can hear Bressie mutter but it seems far away. There’s a hand around his arm and then another as they heave him to his feet. Niall’s so tired, like he’s dead on his feet. His leg is back to aching and he wants to go back to where everything was dark and nothing hurt. 

The air outside makes his head hurt, too sharp and cold for how he’s clammy warm. “I wanna go home,” Niall mumbles to himself, unaware if he’s even getting the words out at all. He feels a hand on his cheek and then he’s out cold again.

Bressie’s face is taut when Niall blinks his eyes open, his eyebrows dipped into a frown. Bressie reaches forward, trails a finger over the slash in Niall’s joggers so he can see the angry sewn stitches. 

“M’fine,” Niall murmurs. His tongue feels too big for his mouth and it’s dry, he needs to swallow a few times before he can get 

“You’re not, head,” Bressie says. His eyes take a moment to come away from Niall‘s gruesome knee. “This is so fucked up.”

He leans in and Niall’s being pulled from the car before he really realises what is happening. “You don’t need to carry me,” Niall slurs but his body is acting before he’s really processing it, curling into Bressie’s chest as he hoists him into his arms. 

“You shouldn’t have pushed yourself,” Bressie tells him and it should sound like he’s telling him off but it comes out softer, sadder. 

“Needed out of the house,” Niall mutters into Bressie’s collar. His coat is cool against Niall’s cheek but he can feel the heat of his skin where the zip of his jacket comes down far enough. If Niall had more energy he could press his nose to it. 

The house is dark but Bressie navigates them through it without much bother. He hoists him up easily into his arms to get him up the stairs and there’s something in it that makes Niall go boneless against him, holding on tight until Bressie can get him laid out across the bed. 

“Don’t go,” Niall mumbles. He’s been missing someone in bed with him. 

“Niall,” Bressie says quietly. There’s resistance it and Niall whines pathetically. 

“Just sleep next to me,” Niall tells him. “It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

It’s the first time that Niall voices the fact that it _could_ mean something. That there’s something else at play here. Niall curls onto his side, pulling his leg up in front of him. It’s something new he’s trying when keeping his leg straight is nearly as sore as the wound. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Bressie says very seriously but Niall reaches for him, searching with his hand until he feels the mattress dip with his weight. 

“You could never hurt me,” Niall tells him, shifting until the covers are strewn over them both. It’s so dark in his room that having his eyes open hurt -- like they’re searching for something in front of him, stretching to find that sliver of light. He can’t see him at all so he closes his eyes.

He hears Bressie’s sigh, registers it dimly in the back of his mind and knows he’s close. “Tell me a story,” Niall asks him. He’s on the edge of sleep but he wants to hear Bressie’s voice, the rough timbre of it settling in the gaps between his bones. It feels like it’s been so long since he’s seen him. 

“I missed you,” Bressie mutters, a hand coming up to settle gently against Niall’s cheek. He sighs, presses back into it. “Over Christmas.”

"I went down by the canal," Niall says tiredly. "Remember?"

“I know, chief,” Bressie says quietly. “That was our time.” Niall feels his hand on his forehead, his palm spanning from his brow up towards his hairline. “But you had more important things to be worrying and planning this Christmas, eh?”

Niall feels a wave of guilt but he’s too tired to really apologise. He just opens his mouth, breathes audibly through it as Bressie moves to push his fingers through Niall’s hair and scratch at his scalp. 

“I missed you,” Bressie tells him again, voice quiet as Niall slips into sleep. “That’s my story.”

*

“What do you say to a night out?” Eoghan asks him conspiratorially. Niall glances over at him. He’s got his leg slung up over the side of the sofa, keeping it raised more out of habit now. It’s not as swollen as it was, the skin of the scar not as puffy. Niall’s trying his best to not think that Eoghan’s over to babysit because Willie’s out for the evening and Laura’s thrown herself back into work. His mum has went back home, Bressie too and Niall hasn’t been out of the house in _days_.

“We’d need to go somewhere crutch friendly,” Niall tells him and Eoghan laughs. It’s just a precaution, he’s been taking it easy around the house for a few minutes without them. He’s still limping a bit but he’s comfortable enough with the familiar floorboards of his own home to risk walking to the loo on his own. 

“Think any bar would be happy to have you, crutches or not. They’d make the room.”

Niall shrugs. He shouldn’t, Laura will kill him and he hasn’t had a night of heavy drinking since he’s weaned himself off the heavy duty painkillers. 

But Eoghan’s ignited that part of him that can never say no. 

Eoghan’s eyes glitter. “Come on,” he cajoles and Niall’s already as good as gone. 

They go to Café de Paris because the manager owes Niall a favour and they can easily get themselves into one of the private bars. Niall manages well enough with his crutches, treading carefully across slippery floors with Eoghan’s hand on his bicep, just in case. 

He lets go when a photographer takes their photo and then there’s bright spots of ultraviolet branded onto Niall’s vision for a few moments as Eoghan takes his arm again. It makes him more jittery, having him pressed so close but he swallows down the wave of nerves and orders them a round. 

It’s fun, exciting to just be somewhere different than the four walls of his living room for once. The ache in his knee giving way the more he drinks and he’s feeling sufficiently woozy by the time Eoghan curls into his side, face flushed from where he had been dancing with Greg and some of the others that had came along too. 

“You’re fucked,” Niall tells him and Eoghan laughs, snuffles it against Niall’s neck. 

“I am,” he says. “But so are you.”

Niall hums in response, closes his eyes. He can feel the rough of Eoghan’s stubble and it makes him shiver. It’s completely different to the softness of a girl and it makes his blood course through him faster. He wants to feel the rough drag of it _everywhere_.

“We should go,” Eoghan mumbles, lips lazy against his jaw. Niall wonders what his few weeks of pathetic growth feels like. Hardly anything, he bets. It makes the few years between them seem like more, twists them strangely hotter. For once, it doesn’t make him feel like a kid. 

“Yeah,” Niall sighs and reaches for his crutches. Eoghan helps him, his hand clumsy this time on his elbow as they inch out of the club and into the car. They leave without telling the rest, leaving the fall out to be dealt with tomorrow. Niall feels a strange surge of selfishness. He doesn’t want any of the others traipsing back to the house with them. He likes that it’s just him and Eoghan in the back of the car. 

All the lights are still on but Laura’s not there. Niall’s not sure if Eoghan’s prewarned her of their night out. It makes him feel a little bit hollow, he’s gotten so used to her being about the past few weeks. 

“Bed,” Eoghan says but Niall shakes his head. 

“Water,” he suggests instead and they creep into the kitchen, giggling into pint glasses of water before moving towards the stairs. 

Climbing them is still a slow process, even if Niall’s drunk enough that his knee is barely a dull pain. Eoghan stands below him and there’s a part of Niall that wishes none of them were here to witness him struggle but a bigger part of him is glad that they’re even bothered. They all approach it differently -- Laura trying to shoulder all his weight and Bressie half carrying up them whether he likes it or not. Eoghan’s hand barely brushes the small of his back as they get to the top of the stairs but Niall’s so aware of his presence behind them, always there just in case. 

“Thanks,” Niall says quietly and he means it for being there, for helping him, for everything but Eoghan just shrugs.

“It was just a night out,” Eoghan says and reaches to pull of his cardigan. Niall smiles as he gets tangled, arm half stuck. He laughs, leans forward to help him out of it when Eoghan’s lips brush across his cheek. They feel warm but it makes Niall freeze. 

He’s not sure if he’s just more aware or if Eoghan’s actually breathing louder. It makes him go warm, suddenly hyper aware of how closer they’re pressed. 

It’s only half liquid courage that makes him do it, doesn’t even really have to think about it before he’s suddenly kissing him. 

It takes a moment and then Eoghan’s kissing him back, a hand coming up to cradle at Niall’s jaw. His thumb presses into Niall’s cheek, Niall can feel it against his teeth. 

It’s wet, Eoghan’s tongue sweeping across his bottom lip and into his mouth and he tastes like flat, lukewarm beer but Niall’s nerve endings are on fire, his skin buzzing where Eoghan’s pressing up against him. 

His sheets feel cool when Eoghan pushes him back into the bed, soft and slippery against where his wrist is pressed against them. Eoghan’s hand closes over his pulse point, his fingers pressing awkwardly into Niall’s palm making it awkward when Niall closes his own fingers over them, clasping them together. 

Eoghan is a nice weight above him, pinning him down onto the bed and when he thought about this, this is what it was like. Eoghan’s bony knee pushing between his legs, Eoghan’s heat seeping into Niall’s chest where they’re pressed together. 

Eoghan kisses him hungrily and Niall wonders if this is how he kisses Laura and Bressie. 

Niall pulls away with a wet gasp. “Shit,” he swears and closes his eyes, Laura and Bressie’s faces swimming blurrily across his mind. “We can’t.”

“Yeah,” Eoghan agrees abruptly, sliding off to the side. He sounds out of breath. “No.” He’s panting, hardly making any sense. The gap between them feels like ten feet, his warm body so far away across the bed. 

Any excitement in his belly has fizzled out and Niall stares at his dim ceiling until he finally falls asleep. 

*

He’s too warm when he wakes up. Sheet stuck to his back and sweat tacky at his chest. There’s something heavy across his leg and for an instant, in that blurry half minute before he wakes up properly, he thinks he’s done something to his knee. He’s had this nightmare before, mostly back when he was still weaning himself off the morphine, that he’d wake up and it wouldn’t be there. The whole bottom of his leg gone without a chance to stop it. It panics him, makes him twist to try and prove that it’s still there.

It’s only when something shifts on top of him, a knee digging into the side of his thigh does he register that it’s not a dream at all and it’s still there. 

“Sssh,” Eoghan mumbles, voice scratchy and raw. He turns his head, snuffles a bit and settles back down to sleep, head rested right beside Niall’s. He’s sprawled across him, arm at his waist and his leg hitched up over Niall’s thigh. 

“Can I just?” Niall asks roughly and rolls out from underneath him as gently as he can. He doesn’t budge until Niall gives his shoulder a bit of a shove. Eoghan frowns, his eyebrows dipping down but he lets him go, hand curling back to his chest with a corner of the duvet. 

Niall lets out a breath and lifts his leg into the air. Still there, ugly scar and all. He runs his hand down over the inside of his thigh, touches the still raw skin across his knee cap. It itches where it’s finally starting to scab over.

“You ok?” Eoghan asks and Niall turns his head on the pillow. This side of the bed is cold, the heating hasn’t kicked in yet and Niall can feel the way his skin is erupting in gooseflesh. 

“Yeah,” Niall says. “It just gets stiff sometimes, especially once I wake up.”

Eoghan stares at him for a moment. “I meant --”

He cuts himself off and Niall blinks at him. They’re not far apart at all on the bed but it feels like miles. 

Eoghan inhales, eyes still bleary from sleep and drink. “I meant about last night.”

It takes a moment for Niall to remember, the feel of Eoghan above him, his closeness, the scrape of his teeth. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, lavs over where they feel rough. He wishes they could’ve kissed longer. 

“Oh god,” Eoghan groans when Niall doesn’t answer straight away and pulls the duvet up over his head. “We shouldn’t have -- Laura’s gonna kill me. Fuck.”

Niall’s stomach turns to ice. He feels slightly sick so he keeps his mouth shut, lips tight in case something like vomit or unwanted words do come out of his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Eoghan says, slightly muffled by the duvet still up around his chin. He’s pulled it down enough that he can peek out the top of it. “I don’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable around us. That wasn’t what I was supposed to do at all.”

Niall has no idea what he’s going on about and opens his mouth to tell him that when Eoghan rolls over and grabs his phone off Niall‘s cluttered bedside table. “ _Fuck_!” 

“What?” Niall snaps. “Jesus, it was a kiss. It’s not the end of the world. You regret it, alright, fine. No need to fucking rub it in.”

Eoghan glances over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. He looks a little grey around the edge of his face.

“I missed my flight,” Eoghan explains and Niall’s face heats up, he can feel the flush of his cheeks already. His stomach rolls uncomfortably. 

“Oh right,” Niall says and sits up too, back to Eoghan at the other side of the bed when he swings his legs over the side. The floor is a mess of their clothes. He bends over to grab a t-shirt that‘s nearly clean. His breath sounds rattle-y, even to his own ears. 

Once he’s found a pair of shorts to shove his feet into he turns to look at Eoghan. 

He looks a bit ridiculous, one of Niall’s shirts skimming the bottom of his belly because he’s so tall, hair a tousled mess on top of his head and his pouty expression. 

“We’ll get you on the next flight.” Niall promises him and turns towards the door to his bedroom. He wobbles, reaching for the end of the bed to steady himself. “Possibly in a taxi,” he amends because he keeps forgetting he’s not exactly in a position to drive. 

“I don’t regret it,” Eoghan says abruptly behind him and Niall pauses, hand still stretched out for the crutches propped up against his dresser. 

Niall inhales, fingers finally gripping around the smooth plastic of the top of a crutch. “I know,” he says and when he looks up, Eoghan meets his gaze with a sudden intensity. “Me neither.”

Eoghan nods abruptly and then pulls on his jeans, leaning back to button them. Niall watches the way his stomach sucks in, that trail of hair leading down into the waistband and then forces his eyes away. 

“But we shouldn’t --” Niall isn’t sure what he’s trying to say. That they shouldn’t do it again. Or they shouldn’t tell the others. He doesn’t like the thought of keeping things from them, he likes that they’re brutally honest with each other. But he doesn’t want to hurt them either. He can think of nothing worse than seeing them upset. 

“Let’s go,” Eoghan says brusquely instead and Niall’s left searching for the end of his sentence. 

*

It’s early. The sky still slightly grey as morning full forms, breeze still cool enough that Niall can see his breath. 

“This was supposed to be gentle,” Niall calls. “A gentle reintroduction into exercise and training. If I had wanted a hike, I’d’ve asked Bressie!” 

Laura laughs from a few paces ahead of him. She’s all kitted out in leggings and a long sleeve retro Adidias t-shirt that she’s got from somewhere. She has one of those fancy water bottles, a hole in the middle for her hand. Niall on the other hand is wearing a pair of joggers that he’s been wearing for four days straight and a pair of old trainers that he painted half of his living room in. There’s a spot of white emulsion right on the toe of his left foot that he keeps looking at as he hikes up the hill behind her. 

“It is gentle,” Laura reminds him for the fifth time this morning. “Come on, you’ll miss it.”

Niall doesn’t really give a shit if he misses it. He hasn’t seen her in a few days, hasn’t seen any of them. He’s not avoiding them, not exactly. He just isn’t sure how he stands with them anymore. It’s been confusing -- he’s just went and kissed her boyfriend and he wouldn’t mind kissing her too -- so he decided to let them cool off for a few days, distance himself. Except she’d phoned him and offered to bring him out for breakfast if he came to see the sunrise with her. Niall had only agreed because he was going stir crazy in the house, his mother phoning him every ten minutes to see if he had started on his physio exercises. He thought a trip to see the sunrise would kill two birds with one stone -- not just kill Niall. 

He stops, takes a deep breath. It burns through his nose and he’s got the beginnings of a stitch in his side, the muscles going sharp with every inhale. He hadn’t realised how hard it was going to be getting back into the swing of things. Every step feels daunting, just putting his weight onto his knee for this length of time without his crutches is causing him stress. 

“Hurry!” Laura calls from the top of the hill. He can see her, hands on her hips off in the distance and he takes a step forward, telling himself that the stinging in his knee is a good sting. A sting of repair. A sting that he deserves.

It is beautiful, the colours bleeding out over the London skyline. The sun is a clear, bright yellow but it’s still too far away for there to be much heat in it. It sends an array of pastels across the sky, seeping into the permanent grey landscape. 

“It’s pretty,” Niall concedes and Laura grins at him, her cheeks pink from the cold. He stares at her for a moment, watching as she watches the sky. Her profile is stark, the hood of her jacket pulled up so he can only see wisps of her hair escaping out the front. 

She looks happy, her face pulled into an ever-present smile. She must not know. She’d never invite him out for walks if she knew. There’s an ebb of guilt in his stomach, growing bigger and then shrinking, like a tide, the more thinks about it. He can’t keep pretending, it’s making him feel worse. But he can’t take that away from her, he can’t make her not smile like that anymore. 

She bites her lip, glances towards him with a curious expression. “What’s wrong?” she asks softly and Niall has no idea how she can just read him like that and say what she’s been thinking. 

“I kissed Eoghan,” Niall blurts and then snaps his mouth shut. He spins on his heel so he doesn’t have to look at her and takes another breath. His side aches and he closes his eyes on the sunrise because what the _fuck?_ Where did that come from?

He clenches his teeth so he doesn’t say anything else stupid. Laura drove them, so he’ll have to call someone to come get him. There’s no way he can walk home like this. He has no money on him for a taxi or the bus. He runs through a list of people, each one of them getting more improbable than the last. It’s seven am on a Sunday morning, no one will be out of their bed to come and rescue him. 

He feels Laura’s hand on his elbow and he slowly swivels round so she can see him. 

“I know,” she says softly. “Niall. Hey, it’s ok. I already know.”

Niall stares at the pavement. The spot of white on his toe is cracking along the ridges of the material of his shoe. He can’t look up at her. 

She lets out a soft sound and brings her hand up the inside of his arm until she’s gripping at his shoulder. Her other hand comes below his chin, a cold knuckle forcing him to look upwards. 

“Eoghan told me,” she says gently. “I’m not mad.”

Niall nods but he finds he can’t meet her eyes. The guilt had been gnawing at him since he’d done it but it doesn’t really feel any better to have told her. He was expecting a much different reaction. He’s not quite sure how to react to this calm, reassuring reaction. 

“Well, I am actually,” Laura says, her mouth twisting into a smile. Her cheeks are still pink but she looks the opposite of mad when Niall risks a glance at her. “He said you’re a good kisser.”

Niall laughs abruptly and her smile widens. She leans in, steals a kiss against his mouth before she’s gone again. Niall gasps, lips parting to taste how cold her mouth feels but she’s already stepping back with a shy smile before he fully registers what’s happening. 

“What?” Niall asks, numbly. 

Laura shrugs and Niall detects a hint of nervousness in her smile. “Now, we’re even.” 

Except they aren’t really. Niall and Eoghan had nearly crossed a line, that kiss had been completely different. 

He leaves it, doesn’t want to push his luck. He’s still trying to work through the tangle of feelings that she had known all along, that Eoghan had told her, that she had been _jealous_.

“Come on,” Laura says quietly. Like she doesn’t want to disturb the twittering birds in the trees around them. The sun is properly up now, the trail brightening around them. “I have a batch of porridge to make.”

“Porridge,” Niall complains as she takes his hand. It’s warm against his numb fingers and she laughs, setting off back down the hill at a pace that doesn’t, thankfully, put too much strain on his leg. “Porridge isn’t really a Sunday Funday breakfast is it?”

“Don’t worry,” she says, a twinkle in her eye. “I’ll make it _just_ right.”

*

“This feels very Last-Supper,” Niall comments as they all settle on Bressie’s worn leather sofa. Eoghan snorts, cracking open a tin of beer with a hiss. Niall watches as it starts to bubble up and Eoghan goes for it, mouth first, to catch the foam. 

“You’ll be away for ages,” Bressie mutters, flicking through the channels on the TV. 

“Not that long,” Niall promises him and sinks back into the cushions. One of them has a funny ribbon tassel and it feels nice to run it through his fingers. Bressie’s still hunched over beside him, flying through the channels instead of going up into TV Guide. It’s one of the things that Laura finds particularly annoying when they all settle to watch a film together but she’s away for the night, working early on a shoot in Cornwall the next morning. 

Niall reaches up, sets his hand in the middle of Bressie’s spine, feels where the heat is radiating out of him. He can feel his muscles tense in response and the TV flickers through three channels all at once. Bressie doesn’t move. Just keeps flicking his channels and it takes a moment for Niall to fully realise that he’s touching him like this. 

“Oi,” Eoghan says, throwing a peanut at Bressie. “Stop there, c’mon.”

Bressie snorts and he goes back a channel. Niall hadn’t even noticed he was into the music section yet. He groans, already hearing the bars of What Makes You Beautiful before the image catches up and the blue screen fades into Harry’s grinning face. They look so young, Niall’s face burns with it. 

“Next channel,” Niall commands with a laugh, trying to brush it off. Bressie looks back at him, his face soft. 

“Look how far you’ve come,” Eoghan says, leaning into his other side and wrapping an arm around him. He pushes his hands into Niall’s hair, messing it up but Niall has to fight the urge to push into it, stretch into the scratch of his fingernails. 

“Became a right wee popstar, didn’t you?” Bressie teases and Niall snorts. 

“You didn’t do too badly yourself,” Niall reminds him and watches as Bressie rolls his eyes and turns back to the telly. 

“Bressie’s hardly _wee_ ,” Eoghan gasps, voice close to Niall’s ear. “He’s a reputation to uphold.” That sets Niall off and he giggles, pressing his face into the broad side of Bressie’s back. He smells good and he’s warm against Niall’s cheek. Niall wouldn’t mind staying there, pressed up against Bressie, Eoghan pressed up against him. 

“You’d know all about how big I am,” Bressie mutters and Eoghan barks out a laugh, snuffling it into Niall’s shoulder. Niall doesn’t laugh, he can’t because his chest has locked up tight. Heat thrums through his body as his song comes to an end of the TV. He stares at it, the picture of all five disappearing off into the sunset together for something to focus on. 

That Niall -- the one of the telly -- has no idea what’s about to happen. He has no idea how brilliant and scary his life is about to become. No idea what it’ll feel like, properly moved away from home with a big and empty place of his own. How lonely it’ll all be. He’ll think he’s hit the jackpot, girls throwing themselves at him and always enough money in his wallet for another drink. He’ll get tired of the constant screaming, the ringing in his ears and the feedback through a microphone but nothing will ever sound as loud as the silence in his big, cavernous house. 

Niall swallows and pushes himself up, away from the heat of Bressie’s side. It dislodges Eoghan, who gives him a look that’s not easy to shrug off. 

“Thank fuck I fixed my grin, eh?” Niall asks as the song changes into Price Tag. He grins widely at Eoghan, shows off his teeth and Eoghan’s face finally relaxes. 

“A definite improvement,” Eoghan agrees. He reaches out and puts a thumb to Niall’s chin, appraises him for a moment.

Bressie laughs, shakes his head. “Don’t listen to him,” he says, reaching back to loop his arm around Niall’s neck. He pulls him back against his side and Niall goes, head feeling light as they cuddle him. “I knew you before the braces. You’re still the same cheeky shite.”

Niall smiles but it feels strained. He thinks he’s changed since then, grown up a lot more. Bressie doesn’t still think that he’s a kid anymore, does he?

“Aw, think I missed it when he was too scared to get a drink in Laura’s house,” Eoghan jokes. “When he thought we wouldn’t be his friend.”

Niall rolls his eyes, ignoring how Bressie starts to laugh. 

“Knock, knock. Can you come and tune my guitar,” Bressie imitates Niall and that’s harder to ignore, Niall can feel his face heat up. He can still remember the day he came to this very flat and asked Bressie to basically take him in. 

Eoghan snorts and nuzzles in closer, pressing his face into the hot side of Niall’s neck. “The start of a porno if I ever heard one.”

Niall kicks him as best he can with the way they’ve tangled him up in their arms. Bressie’s laughing, his breath hot on the back of Niall’s ear before he moves away. 

“More tea?” he says gruffly, dislodging himself. Niall watches him, letting Eoghan resettled himself against his shoulder, as Bressie disappears into his kitchen. 

Niall misses the warmth of his body already.

*

“Go n-éirí an bóthar leat,” Eoghan says quietly, leaning in. Niall leans in too and cups a hand around the back of his neck in a hug. Eoghan smells like sleep, soft and warm. He smells like Bressie and Laura and himself all at once and it makes Niall never want to let him go. 

“Cheers,” Niall mumbles, voice still rough from waking up. Eoghan looks a bit sad and Niall knows if he looks much longer, he’ll not want to leave. “I’ll be home before you know it.”

Eoghan nods, twisting his hand in his sleep shirt and when he looks up, he’s smiling thinly. 

“Come on,” Bressie says from where he’s picking up his car keys. He’s bundled up in a thick jumper for the cold outside. “You’ll be late. Can‘t have any of your henchmen breathing down our necks.”

“They wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Niall says and grabs his last bag. The rest are already either at the airport or in the back of Bressie’s car. He’ll not need much anyway -- his credit card feels too heavy in his pocket these days so he can splurge when he gets there. Maybe drag Zayn out to buy t-shirts and brightly coloured trainers they’ll never wear. Niall has a wardrobe full of them.

“Now,” Eoghan says, fake cheerfulness in his voice. “That’s not very reassuring. Who’s going to protect you from all those bitey teens?” 

“I don’t think it’s them I have to worry about biting me,” Niall says easily, fiddling with his coat to make sure it’s looped around the strap of his bag. Eoghan snorts and then he’s tugging Niall into another hug, like he can’t help himself. 

“I’m going to miss you,” he whispers, as if it’s a secret. Bressie’s standing right behind him, he can feel the heat off his chest which means he must be standing pretty close to them. Niall relaxes into Eoghan’s chest, bites back a moan when he feels Bressie’s hand on his shoulder too, fingers overlapping where Eoghan’s got a grip on his nape. 

“You’ll forget I’m gone,” Niall murmurs, lips catching on the warm muscles of Eoghan’s neck. 

Eoghan snorts. “Hardly think so,” he says and then pushes him away. “Go on, you’ll miss your flight.”

Niall gives him a final smile and then he’s out the door, Bressie following him to the car. 

Traffic is a nightmare, even though the sun hasn’t properly risen. Niall and Bressie sit in silence most of the way, making it seem more torturous. They had went to bed last night in early enough time -- Eoghan and Bressie slipping off to Bressie’s room with a lingering glance back at Niall. Niall had bedded down in the guest room, his eyes open in the black as he thought about what would’ve happened if he’d just followed them on in. 

They might not have stopped him.

Niall blinks through the glare of streetlights, watches as a dribble of rain rolls down the passenger side’s window. He hadn’t. And he doesn’t know how he really feels about that. 

“What’s on your mind?” Bressie asks, cutting right to the chase. 

Niall shakes his head, picks at the slit in his jeans by his knee. “Just tired.”

Bressie glances over at him, his hands big on the wheel and his face set into a soft, still-sleepy frown. “Me too,” he mumbles and turns his attention back to the road. 

Heathrow is as busy as it is any other time of the day but Bressie finds a parking space in alright time so he can walk with him to the terminal. 

“Have a good time,” Bressie says but it sounds like he’s wishing him luck going to a funeral. Niall smiles anyway. It’s the first time that he’s not completely, one-hundred-percent buzzing to get back on tour. The first time it’s felt like he was truly _leaving_ something. 

“Always do,” Niall replies and reaches up for a hug. Bressie squeezes an arm around him, dragging him into the wall of his chest. It feels good, makes him feel small and encased completely in him. Protected. Niall has a sudden urge to just say _fuck it_. Fuck the tour. Fuck the band. The thought startles him a little.

“Miss you already,” Niall jokes into Bressie’s shoulder. He hears how it makes him laugh, hollow and rough.

He knows a few people are beginning to stare so he untangles himself gently and looks up in Bressie’s big, sad eyes. 

“Have a good time,” Bressie repeats. “And come home safe.”

Niall grins, fights against the urge to curl into his chest again and forces himself to take a step back. Bressie looks torn then, but gently lets him go. For a wild moment, Niall thinks he‘s going to duck down and kiss him. But he doesn‘t, even if Niall would let him do it in public, fuck the consequences. 

“You know you can phone home to us,” Bressie says. He reaches out and holds onto Niall’s bicep, his thumb rubbing softly. “About anything.” 

He looks so sincere that it makes Niall do a double take. Niall forces his mouth to work. “Will do, chief.”

Bressie grins at that and Niall feels a little bit better about walking away towards the door. There’s a gaggle of fans just inside the door and he smiles at them, waving over his shoulder one last time before he plunges into smiling for their photos. 

They natter away about how excited they are and how lovely he is and how they can’t wait for the tour to come back to London. He recognises some of them and it’s easy to just nod and hum at the right moments, this exchange so practised he could do it in his sleep as he smiles into phones and cameras all the while glancing out the automatic doors every time they swish open to see Bressie still standing across the road, bathed in the orange of a street light as the sun finally makes an appearance in the grey sky, still standing watch until Niall’s long gone. 

*

**If you masturbate furiously, post ejaculation euphoria will send you into a deep slumber. Sorted.**

Niall stares at the tweet for a long time. He breathes out slowly and reads it again. He got it as soon as Eoghan had tweeted it, the three of them moved into the special list Niall’s got on twitter so he’ll be notified when they tweet. It’s the three of them; Eoghan, Bressie and Laura; the rest of the lads and Derby’s official twitter page. 

He reads it again, just to make sure that he’s read it right but it’s there, in tiny black letters, being retweeted and responded to by hundreds of strangers. Niall doesn’t know what to feel. There’s part of him that wants to give into the bubble of laughter in his belly but there’s also a bit of him that’s working on an embarrassed flush. 

He rubs his thumb over the screen of his phone again and watches as it smears sweatily over Eoghan’s tweet, the screen smudging green and blue. He breathes out again and it’s hot against his hand. 

He’s too exhausted to work out the time difference, even though it’s starting to become habit now but he thumbs over to his contact screen and presses dial on Eoghan’s number before he gives himself enough time to think too much. 

It rings five long times before it clicks in and he hears Eoghan’s laugh before he says hello. 

“Hi,” Niall says and he suddenly doesn’t know what to say now that he’s answered. 

“Hiya, you having trouble sleeping?” Eoghan asks. He sounds the same and Niall’s hit with the realisation of how far away he is. If Niall closes his eyes he could be tricked into thinking he was right there in the bed with him. He bites his lip, breathes through his nose. It feels like hasn’t seen him in so long.

“A bit,” Niall admits quietly. He’s got the lamp beside dimmed down low and the TV is all the way at the other side of the room, on but muted. He kicks his feet under the duvet, a pocket of air deflating and it’s easy for Niall to scratch down his stomach and along the waistband of his boxers. 

“You not out on the tear then?” Eoghan asks and Niall notices the change in his voice, a concerned edge to it that Niall hadn’t anticipated. “Not got a trail of young things after you?” 

Niall smiles to himself. “Not tonight,” he says and tries to stop his voice sounding so sad. He clears his throat, gathers some bravado. “Gotta let the other boys have their chance, y’know?” 

He hears Eoghan laugh. “Oh I know,” Eoghan says softly. There’s a fumble of the phone and Niall wonders where he is. If he’s busy. If he’s missing Niall as much as Niall’s missing him. 

“I’m the same,” Eoghan tells him jokingly. “Have to leave the studio under the cover of darkness so Bressie will think the crowds are for him.”

Niall paints a smile onto his face but remembers that Eoghan can’t see him so he stops. He’s missing Bressie too, the mention of his name making his gut twist. 

They’re quiet for a few moments. For once Niall isn’t gushing about what they’re doing on tour and Eoghan isn’t filling them in on what they’re up to at home. 

“So,” Eoghan says after a few minutes of comfortable silence. “Are you going to take me up on my advice?” 

“Your advice is shite,” Niall retorts out of habit and he hears Eoghan’s quiet laugh in response. 

“I could --” Eoghan says quietly. Niall can hear his breathing. It makes him want to stop his own, lungs inflated while he waits for Eoghan to keep going, waits for his quiet suggestion, “I could help you out.”

Niall lets out his breath in an audible puff of air. He wants to swear. He wants Eoghan right there beside him. He wants to be home.

“If you’d like,” Eoghan tacks on at the end and Niall can hear the strain in his voice. Niall fingers his waistband again, lets them dip in underneath the tight elastic for just a second before he pulls them out again. 

“That could --” he cuts off. His voice has it’s own strain in it. He swallows, listens for Eoghan to interrupt him but he doesn’t. This feels much more important than they’re both letting on. “That could work.”

He hears Eoghan’s exhale and it prickles at the back of his neck. It’s so hard to work out what he’s thinking when he can’t see him, can’t feel him, can’t check that he’s on the same wavelength. 

“Well,” Eoghan says suddenly, voice too light to be not hiding something. “What are you wearing then?” 

Niall splutters out a laugh and any awkwardness between them is gone instantly. He can hear Eoghan take another breath and he fumbles with something, phone going muffled for a moment. 

Niall closes his eyes, imagines him in bed with his phone to his ear. He’s probably still dressed from the day, hand going to the belt of his jeans or trying to get out of his t-shirt without dropping the phone. 

Niall sighs, fingertips finally pushing into his boxers. He scratches at himself for a moment, fingers brushing over the stubbly patch of hair he had been dared to wax off weeks ago. It’s growing in again and starting to itch but the texture is surprisingly different to the rest of the hair around the base of his dick, he can’t stop dragging his thumb over it. 

“Are you touching yourself?” Eoghan asks and the tone of his voice is starkly different to before. This is proper Eoghan now, not jokey Eoghan. It’s low, slightly husky and Niall lets out another breath through his nose, worried that if he lets it out his mouth he’ll moan. 

“Yeah,” Niall finally admits, hand curled loosely around his dick. He’s hard, he has been since Eoghan even suggested it. He sucks in another breath. He’s never really done this before, never needed to get off on the phone with someone and he feels a bit silly, everything that’s running through his mind sounds like a clichéd porno. 

“Good,” Eoghan responds and Niall tries not to preen at his praise. He rubs his thumb against his skin and he wishes he had the foresight to grab lube out of somewhere. There’s a bottle buried in his wash bag but his suitcase is all the way at the other side of the room. 

“You hard, Niall?” Eoghan breaks into his train of thought again and Niall gasps then, more loudly. He hears Eoghan breathe roughly in response. 

“Yeah,” Niall says and gasps in another breath, fist twisting slowly the way he likes. He jacks his hand up, toes curling at the too dry friction. He knows he should be more responsive, should run his mouth off and probably would be if they were doing this in person but there’s something about holding his phone in one hand is making him have stage fright. 

Eoghan doesn’t seem to mind though, his voice calm and soft on the other side of the Atlantic. 

“You see yourself?” he asks. “I bet you’re really pink. Are you all flushed Niall?” 

Niall gasps again and kicks at his covers, pushing the duvet down with his feet. His boxers are still trapped around his arse, the waistband stretched around his thighs and he lets go of his dick to push them down properly. He hisses when he gets a hand around his dick again. 

“I bet you go really red,” Eoghan keeps going and Niall can hear it in his voice now, that he must be touching himself too.

“Fuck,” Niall finally swears and Eoghan makes an encouraging noise. He can feel himself sweating into the sheets and when he dips his chin to his chest he can feel how hot he is. “Yeah, I’m all red.” He thumbs around the head of his dick, drags his foreskin down and bites back a groan as a drip of pre-come finally makes his palm more slick. 

Eoghan makes a noise and Niall presses his phone closer to his ear to hear him better. The plastic edge of his phone case digs into his temple but he doesn’t care. He wants to hear Eoghan make every noise under the sun. And he wants to be the one to make him do it. 

He fists himself again, drags his hand up and then down his dick and stops holding back his groan, letting it out loud. It sounds odd in the quiet of his hotel room, the dim making everything seem more silent. 

“Shit,” Eoghan swears and it’s breathy, voice hardly making any noise at all. Niall pictures him arched off his bed, hands all over himself. It burns through him - the desire for Eoghan to touch him, to moan into his neck, to kiss him fiercely. Niall opens his mouth, jaw working at nothing. He wants it to be filled and he lets out another desperate noise. 

“You’d be all wet,” Eoghan gasps. Niall rubs at himself slickly. “Dribbling by now. You dribbling by now?”

“Yeah,” Niall tells him. He follows it with a breathy laugh because it’s dawning on him how ridiculous this is. He has a bold stab of confidence. “Tell me what you’re doing, tell me -” 

Eoghan groans and there’s more muffling of the phone. His breathing gets louder for a moment and Niall tries to pretend it’s right here beside him. 

“My hand’s all sticky,” Eoghan tells him. Niall ignores the urge to cringe because that doesn’t sound particularly sexy but he gets it, he squeezes his hand around his own slick dick, picks up his rhythm to Eoghan’s voice. “So wet for it. My balls feel so heavy, fuck, Niall. Wish you were here, want you here with us.” He inhales sharply and Niall wonders what he’s doing, mind running with images of him cupping his balls, of him cupping Niall’s balls, just any old abstract image of _balls_. Niall slides his hand down, runs his fingers lightly over them and then into the little space behind his own. When he groans, Eoghan echoes him. 

“Fuck, Niall, I wish you were here.” Eoghan groans softly again. 

Niall can feel himself building up to his own orgasm. It makes him clench his arse, the muscles in his thighs contracting for a little bubble of pleasure he feels right down to his toes. He can feel it behind his knees, like the bones are going to fizz up under his skin. “I want to taste you. Want to see you.” Eoghan’s voice sounds far away but he keeps talking. “Wish you could see this, Niall.” His voice has went rougher that he’s ever heard it and Niall gives into the slick pump of his dick, hips coming up to punch into his fist and when he comes his phone falls onto the pillow beside him, freeing his hand to slap over his eyes. His arm doesn’t feet big enough to cover his entire face. 

“Christ,” he hears a voice, tinny and far away. “That was so hot.”

There’s a hiss that Niall nearly thinks is a ‘shush’ over the buzz in his ears before Niall fumbles for his phone, left hand sliding over the come dribbled over his stomach. 

“Sorry?” Niall says, voice rough and Eoghan laughs, strained and tight.

“Sounded great,” he says. Niall doesn’t know what to say, brain turned to mush. He feels more tired and more awake than before, a mix of endorphins making his brain go swimmy. 

“You can hear it again, if you want,” Niall says, not quite in touch with that filter between his head and his mouth. “Do it for real.” He rubs his sticky fingertips against the still red head of his dick and shivers. He thinks back to the last time he had his hands on Eoghan, of hot kisses in the middle of his bed before they had passed out and hopes he understands. “We -- we wouldn’t have to stop this time.” 

Eoghan groans quietly and it’s longer than before. It makes Niall’s chest expand with the realisation that this is what Eoghan sounds like when he comes.

He stays quiet after that, just listens to how Eoghan catches his breath. There’s another movement and then a distinct second mumble and Niall’s stomach lurches.

“Is there --” Niall’s afraid to ask. He can feel his face heating up already with embarrassment. He knows that Eoghan would never get himself off if he hadn’t been alone, wouldn’t he?

Niall is entirely on edge, his feet curled into the bottom of the duvet and the hand on his stomach folded into a fist. 

“Where are you?” Niall asks instead, not bringing himself to ask if he’s actually alone. 

He hears Eoghan’s inhale and the hesitation. “I’m in Dublin,” Eoghan finally confesses. “Uh, we start filming tomorrow.”

Niall’s body unclenches. He lets out a breath but it sounds like it’s being kicked out of him. That means Bressie is there. Niall’s face flushes again. It feels far too hot. If he wasn’t already naked, he’d be stripping off. 

“Oh,” Niall manages to say but it doesn’t come out right. 

“I’m sorry,” Eoghan apologises immediately. “That wasn’t-- I didn’t--”

Niall can hear the desperation in it but his head is still spinning with the confirmation that Bressie’s with him. He has to be. 

“I should’ve said that he was here,” Eoghan admits quietly and Niall wishes again that he was in the room with him to see his expression. He pulls the duvet up around him, hiking it up his chest even though he’s still too warm. The pleasant buzz in his muscles fizzles out completely as he curls onto his side, sheet sticking to the small of his back slightly. 

“It’s uh, it’s ok,” Niall says after a pause. 

“It’s not,” Eoghan murmurs. Niall can imagine him pushing his hand through his hair. He isn’t sure if he’s still on the bed, shirt off and come sticky on his belly, Bressie loitering by the door. He sucks in a breath as he imagines Bressie splayed out on the bed beside him, his own stomach sticky. Maybe they helped each other, listened to Niall wank off as they got off together. Bressie’s lips wrapped tight around Eoghan’s dick. 

Niall blinks hard to get rid of the image but it only burns brighter on the backs of his eyelids. 

“I should’ve -” Eoghan cuts himself off and corrects himself. “ _We_ should’ve been honest with you.”

Niall laughs but gets caught slightly at the back of his throat, comes out tangled. He doesn’t want Eoghan to beat himself up over it but he knows he will. He knows Bressie will too. “I should’ve known.”

He could’ve mistaken Eoghan’s sigh for being beside him. Niall closes his eyes again, letting the fatigue finally wash over him. 

“We’ll see you when you get home?” Eoghan asks, hope in his tone. Niall swallows. He can’t imagine a time when he wouldn’t be seeing them at home. 

“Course,” he whispers tiredly. Eoghan breathes again. 

“Sleep tight,” he hears softly over the phone and registers dimly, somewhere in the back of his mind that it isn‘t Eoghan‘s voice. Niall squeezes his eyes shut and doesn’t remember hanging up the phone. 

*

“You looking forward to getting home?” Harry asks from the end of the bath. He’s sitting opposite him, their legs overlapping. Harry had drawn the short straw and got the end with the taps so he’s hunched forward awkwardly as he carefully rolls a joint. It’s a bit lumpy, gone crooked at the end but Louis bet him he couldn’t do it himself so he’s trying to make a point. Niall wishes he wouldn’t, Harry’s attempts always get too smokey, the end too wet. 

Niall’s hardly surprised when his mind flashes to London instead of Mullingar. He doesn’t think of his tiny little bedroom in his dad’s house or even his own bed in his own house. Instead, he thinks of the squishy armchair in Laura’s living room, of Bressie’s huge arm slung over his shoulder, of Eoghan dragging him into some ridiculous prank with a laugh. 

“Yeah,” he smiles because he is, he can’t hide the excitement of getting back there. Something feels like it’s clicked into place, finally settled. 

Harry smiles knowingly up at him, wetting his lips before he licks the edge of the papers. His eyes already look a little glassy in the dimmed light. 

“You gonna make me the only single man on tour?” he asks. It’s the perfect mix of casual and bluntness that Harry always seems to get away with. Any of the rest of them would just be awkward about it. Niall flushes but doesn’t move, Harry’s mouth curves up into a grin. 

“You dirty dog,” he says and flicks at a lighter. They don’t do this often, just the two of them. Normally they’d be more up for drinking the mini-bar dry and putting it all on Liam’s bill the next morning when they’re forced to have a night in. But Harry had taken him by the wrist and tugged him into the bathroom, kicking off his boots and unscrewing the fire alarm in the roof without a word and Niall had instantly known his plans. 

“It’s nothing official,” Niall tells him because there’s something about Harry that makes him come clean about everything that’s on his mind. Harry just nods, face open and calm. It’s probably what Niall needs, someone to act like an impartial soundboard and let him work through the tangle of thoughts in his head. 

“But there’s something going on?” he asks, tapping the end of his joint on the edge of the bath. He peers at it, scrutinising every little error in his rolling before presenting it to Niall. “Not bad?”

Niall snorts and takes it anyway. “Only a bit shit,” Niall commends him and Harry barks out a laugh before passing him the lighter too.

Harry waits until they’ve shuffled closer together, passed it between them a few times before he asks him again. 

“So?” he says. He’s gone droopy already, his voice slow and sated. He rolls his head to the side, his neck stretching out as he peers over at him. Niall blinks, lets out his lungful of smoke and passes him the end of the joint back. 

“They just make me feel happy,” Niall tells him. He’s riding on the edge of a buzz, something not fully realised yet but it’s enough already to make him chatty. “Like I fit. It’s sort of like the band, with all of you guys.”

Harry furrows his eyebrows. “You want to fuck all of us?” 

Niall grins. “No,” he tells him honestly. “I only want to fuck three people.”

“Greedy,” Harry mumbles, sucking around the very end and dropping it into the dregs of Niall’s beer at the edge of the tub. 

Niall smiles, starts to feel his limbs go liquid. His arse is sore from sitting on the cold porcelain but it’s starting to fade and go numb. Harry’s still curled awkwardly to the side because of the taps but he looks as loose as Niall feels. 

“I just fit,” Niall tells him again and Harry’s watching him intently, really listening. “Like I get on with them all so well and it’s-- it’s homey, y’know?” 

Harry shakes his head and Niall sighs. It’s hard to grasp the words like this. There’s nothing that seems big enough, important enough, special enough to explain how they make him feel. 

“They remind me of home, they just-- understand me.” Niall feels a twinge of sadness when he says it. Harry’s face twists into a frown and it looks extra exaggerated for how fucked he’s getting. 

“Do we not understand you?” he asks and Niall shakes his head, feels dizzy for a moment. 

“You do,” Niall reassures him. “That’s what it’s like with you. Minus the fucking part.”

Harry snorts. “Minus the fucking part,” he repeats and he licks his lips again, making them shiny and wet. 

“I see them together and I want to be part of it.” The words form right on Niall’s tongue, he doesn’t even have to think about them properly before he’s saying them. “I want to kiss them and hug them and have them fill out my bed. They make it look so easy and I’ve never had that before. They care about each other so much. No, they _take care_ of each other and then they all take care of me. They make London feel less lonely, less foreign.”

Harry gives his ankle a reassuring squeeze. 

“But I don’t know how to work that,” Niall says and sighs again. His eyes are stinging and it makes him squint through the blurriness. “They all know how to do that. That relationship thing, how to make it work. All I know is how to jump about stage and make sure to keep paddling along with the rest of you lot. Fuck.”

Harry laughs a little bit. “Stop it,” he tells him, sitting up straight and blinking at him slowly. “You just said that they make you fit. They’re already helping you make it work.”

Niall stares at him. “What?” 

Harry snorts. “I don’t know. Look, you love them, right?” 

Niall swallows. He doesn’t have to think. He’s never felt like this before. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to be feeling but it’s there, that niggling emptiness at the thought of not living life with them, of not having them by his side. He thinks of the freckle on Laura’s cheek, how Eoghan looks when he lets his hair flop down soft and fluffy over his forehead, how Bressie had let him in that first afternoon when he was trembling on his doorstep, going mad with no one to talk to in a vast city that scared him. 

“Yeah,” Niall says and it’s not a realisation, he thinks he’s always known. 

“Then go home and tell them,” Harry suggests gently. “And they’ll help you make it work.” 

*

Laura picks him up from the airport this time. He feels a bit like they’re all looking after him, mollycoddling him. She had sent him a few texts before he had got on the plane, asking about this flight number and how he was but he hadn’t expected her to be standing outside arrivals wearing a long blue coat and two scarves around her neck. 

“Didn’t think you’d be set for the rain,” she says when she greets him. She leans in close, looping the scarf around his neck. It smells of her -- her rosy perfume and something softly metallic sprayed in her hair. 

“Ta,” Niall murmurs. Basil gives him a clap on the back and they’re moving again towards the door. There’s a barrier before the arrivals gate to stop most people getting too close to them and a few fans lingering about. Niall hopes to slip past them without them noticing. “How’d you get in this far?” 

Laura gives him a small grin. “I have my ways, Horan.”

Niall smiles and is suddenly glad she’s here. He wants to reach down and take her hand, grip her tight. They didn’t even get to hug. He doesn’t though, twists his hand in the pocket of his hoody and she’s right, he didn’t prepare for the rain -- it soaks into the material of it as soon as he steps out from under the awning. 

“My car’s this way,” she says. It’s the first time she touches him, her hand gripping around his forearm just under his elbow. It slides down, knocks against the bracelet she gave him for Christmas as she steers him away from the group. Niall hardly gets chance to say goodbye to Basil before she’s tugging him towards the short stay carpark. She doesn’t let go and Niall relishes it. He’d missed her more than he’d thought. 

It’s darker than he realised when they get out onto the road. The radio’s on, something blaring out off Radio 1 that Niall doesn’t recognise and the heater is blasting, the windows fogging up around them. Laura sticks her wipers on and with every loud swipe of them Niall can see the London road sprawl out before them. Everything looks blurred, the lights of the oncoming cars smearing and then coming sharply into view with every swish of the wipers before blurring again. 

Niall rubs his hands together and jams them between his thighs. They haven’t spoken since they’d slammed the doors shut on the rain, suitcases loaded into the back. 

“Christ,” Niall swears as they come to another jerky stop at a set of traffic lights. “Forgot how much of a shite driver you are.”

“Watch your mouth,” Laura retorts nearly immediately but she’s grinning when he looks over at her. She taps her finger against the gear stick, nails painted a shiny pink. Niall wonders if she’s been recording something. “I’m better than you, anyway. You still can’t make your way home without a fecking SatNav.”

Niall snorts. “London’s fucking huge.”

“Yeah, yeah, like you’d be any better back in Ireland.” Laura takes off again, humming along to the song before she has to slow down for another red light. 

“Should’ve let me drive,” Niall teases. He doesn’t know why he’s keeping up the conversation about her driving. It’s not that the silence is uncomfortable or that he doesn’t have a million and one other things to gush to her about the tour and being home. But there’s something else in the car with them, an atmosphere of something that’s to come, something more. 

He suddenly thinks of Eoghan and Bressie and knows that they’ve told her. Niall swallows, runs his thumb over the seam of his jeans. 

“Like you can manage a gear stick Mr Fancy Car,” Laura snorts and flicks her indicators on, finally pulling into a familiar road. Niall breathes a sigh of relief that they’re nearly there and tries to ignore the feeling that he’s coming _home._

It’s still raining so they make a bolt for the door, leaving all of Niall’s luggage in the back of the car. Laura fiddles with the keys, laughing when it takes a moment to get the key in the lock. 

Niall can feel the rain soak into his shoulders, right down to the skin. Water drips down the back of his neck, making him shiver and he presses closer to the door, placing a hand onto Laura’s waist to urge her to be quicker. 

“Need to get that lock fixed.” Laura laughs once they’re inside. The hallway’s empty and they drip on the tiled floor while they wait on the lift. Niall keeps his hand on Laura’s waist. It nearly feels awkward, the space between them and the time it takes for the lift to tick down but he keeps it there, a barely there pressure against the damp material of her coat. 

He keeps his eye on her, watches as she stares at the lift and he knows that she’s doing it on purpose, keeping her eye focused away from him. He doesn’t think they’ve ever been this silent with each other. 

The lift trundles up a few floors, jolting to a stop at her door. Niall lets her out into the little foyer first, there’s an umbrella stand and a little shelf where Laura’s thrown all her post beside her door. It takes her another second to get the key in the door and Niall knows he’s too close to her, can see the shake in her hands as she slots the key into the lock, feel the way her shoulders rise with every breath. 

Laura doesn’t bother flicking on any lights once they’re inside and Niall doesn’t care because as soon as they’re over the threshold she’s on him, hands warm as they cup around his jaw and drag her into him. They’re nearly the same height and it’s easy for Niall to loop an arm around her waist and pull her close to him, her back arching. 

The front door slips closed, cutting off any light into the room, leaving only the glow of the streetlights outside. Niall walks her back, pushing at the lapel of her damp coat towards the huge window at the other side of the living room. He can’t be bothered dealing with her fiddly broken lamp beside the sofa or trying to navigate their way towards the bedroom. He wants her now, needs to get his hands on her skin right here. 

Laura seems to agree because she drops her coat at her feet with a wet thump and then starts on the blouse, unbuttoning it quickly as she breathes through her nose. Niall can feel her rough exhales she’s still pressed so close. 

Her skin is soft when he gets a hand on her, warm at the dip in her waist. She pushes herself out of her jeans, kicking out of them with a rustle of wet denim before her nimble fingers goes to his waistband. Niall sucks in a breath as the back of her hand brushes against his cock. He’s hard, has been working up to it since the car he thinks but now with the possibility of actual touching and friction he’s rock hard in what feels like seconds. 

He steps out of them as best as he can, laughing softly when her hands go to his boxers, pushing them down at the same time so he’s caught around his knees. 

“Feels like an assault course,” Niall comments and it’s the first time he’s spoken since the car. Laura glances up at him, her face soft and beautiful in the yellow glow from outside. 

“Will I get the light?” she asks, reaching back to unhook her bra. Niall glances down at her, her skin pale and shadowy in the dim. He shakes his head, brushes his hand against her quivering stomach and goes in to kiss her. 

“Don’t want people to see,” he murmurs just as her shoulders hit the cold window with a hiss and she arches into him, pressing against his chest with a warm softness before she gets used to it and relaxes back against it. She kisses him quickly, takes his breath away and Niall loses his concentration on where his hands are. He keeps them on her hips, thumb pressing into the warm skin there but not doing much else. 

If he over thinks it he’ll ruin it so he tries to keep his mind blissfully blank except for the softness against his palm and the heat between his legs. He breaks the kiss when she wraps a hand around his dick, giving him a confident squeeze and he’s reminded again of the age difference and how it’s _Laura_. He doesn’t make a habit of sleeping with anyone young and inexperienced anymore but it makes him hot that Laura knows what she’s doing. She twists at the head of his dick, gives him another slow pump down, pulling him in closer by the hip. She _definitely_ knows what she’s doing. 

“Can I fuck you?” Niall asks against her lips, licking out to soothe over where he’s bitten them. She sighs against him, a little huff of warm breath that sounds halfway to a laugh. 

“Think that’s the point,” she murmurs, her hand slowing down on his dick. He groans against her and feels the way her mouth turns into a smug smile. He ducks his head and kisses across her shoulder, lapping against her skin at the base of her throat. She tastes perfumey too as Niall nuzzles into her neck. 

“Fuck,” he swears, lip dragging on her skin. “Fucking hell, Laura.”

She makes a noise, sort of kittenish and twists. He lets her, lets his hand only brush lightly against her sides as she turns around. He kisses across the back of her shoulder, moves her wave of damp hair away from her neck so he can suck a kiss into the knobs at the top of her spine and listens as her breathing hitches. 

She spreads her legs and Niall presses into her, pushes his dick right against her arse. She groans again and Niall sucks another kiss against her shoulder. 

The window is cold against his hand but he braces himself there, caging her in against the glass and she sighs, leaning back into his chest. Laura reaches back, puts a hand at his hip to keep him a close. 

“Come on,” she murmurs, breath fogging up the glass in front of her. 

Niall likes the view, likes to see her pressed up against the glass. He wonders if there’ll be nipple marks the next day and the thought makes him press up against her again, listening to the change in her breathing. 

He takes his time, slides his palm down her belly torturously slow until he can feel for her clit. She gasps, presses her arse out more so he can reach her properly. She’s wet and Niall exhales into her shoulder, setting his teeth against her skin as his fingers slide easily over her. 

He teases her for a moment, slips his fingers over her clit and rubs around with the pads of his fingers. She rolls her head back onto his shoulder, her hair splaying against his collarbone. It’s warm and tickly but he pushes his nose into it anyway, presses his tongue against the thin skin behind her ear.

“Niall,” she moans and Niall can feel the way it reverberates roughly up her throat. He wonders what else would sound as good like that, how she says Eoghan and Bressie’s names. He presses his finger against her, his wrist bent awkwardly as he slides it in. She groans again, leans more weight on him. 

It’s still raining outside, dribbles of water obscuring his view of the street but the lights bleed through, white and old yellow streetlights making Laura’s skin glow pale. Her mouth looks red like this, teeth white as she sets them into her bottom lip to offset the loud, longing moan she lets out. She rocks her hips against his hand as he pumps out of her again, dragging the heel of his hand against her clit. 

“Fuck,” she swears again, breathless. She pants against the glass and Niall lied before, he hopes that someone on the street can see them. Can see how much she wants it -- wants him. It feels like such a long time coming, he wants everyone to know. “Niall, come on.”

He drags his own hand up his dick, smoothing a drip of pre-come down over his skin before pressing in close again. Laura’s bum is soft and round and he drags his hand slickly around her hip to press his fingers into it, holding her still as he finally fucks into her. 

She makes a loud noise from the back of her throat and braces herself against the window, forearms coming up to press against the glass. She has her hands in fists and Niall smears his palm against the condensation they’ve created in the space between his arms. 

“Fuck,” he finally speaks, rolls his hips up into her and listens to her groan again. 

He wants to impress her. Show her how well he can fuck someone but the quicker he bucks into her the more he just wants to come. He’s wanted this so long -- he realises that now -- and it’s building up in him already, that zinging electric warmth crisscrossing his skin. 

He forces himself to be good, fucks into her with long, drawn out strokes. Fucks her into the window so she’s pressed up against it, breathing harshly against the glass. Niall can see fragments of her reflection, the way her mouth has dropped open and the flutter of her eyelashes. He wants to do it face to face next time. He sucks in a breath. _Next time_.

He brushes his thumb against the sensitive underside of her breast and fumbles for her clit again, rubbing at it until she’s tightening around him with a sharp cry. She lifts a leg and it brushes against the taut muscle of Niall’s calf, so soft and light that it nearly makes Niall’s legs buckle. He bites down on her shoulder gently as she rocks against him. He wants to come, he can feel it rocketing through his system. His feet slip on the tiled floor and his knee aches from holding himself up like this but he fucks into her a few more times, drawing it out as slow as he can manage before he sets his forehead against her sweaty nape and comes with a soft moan. 

She’s panting still, shoulder rising gently as she catches her breath. Niall kisses her on the shoulder, slides his hands through the slick between her legs to make her shiver before he pulls carefully out of her. He staggers back, instantly missing the loss of heat against his front and collapses back into her sofa. 

She’s still against the window and her silhouette looks even more impressive in the shadowy light. He wants to take a picture, remember it forever. She takes a breath, shoulders rising to block out the glare from a street light before she pushes off the glass and makes her way towards the bathroom, the light flicking on with a twang of the cord. 

Niall leans his head back against the cushions, catches his breath. 

“Shit,” he swears to himself. He could possibly have ruined everything between them. He doesn’t have the energy to find his clothes and run, jet lag finally catching up to him and there’s a jagged bundle of nerves ruining his buzz at the thought of what Laura’s going to say when she comes back. 

It takes her a moment but she slides back into the room in a pink silk robe that he’s seen her wear only once before. It’s shiny and catches the light when she bends over to hit the lamp at the end of the sofa. It skims her thighs -- entirely too short to wear without underwear. 

She gives him a small smile and Niall can see the way she’s still pink at the top of her chest and her cheekbones. 

“Welcome home, eh?” she says and comes to a stop in front of him. Niall’s very aware that he’s completely naked and sprawled out over her sofa. She takes a step forward, Niall can see a glimpse of her nipple through the thin material, the soft swell of her breast. His nerves are smoothing out, blunted by every smile she sends him.

“That is a welcome home,” Niall agrees and reaches a hand out, thumb skimming the soft material. She grins at him, a quick flash of her teeth before she settles down right on his lap. He groans, feels how wet and hot she still is. She gives him a look before she leans in to kiss him and Niall tries to work out what it means, other than the overwhelming sense of contentment. 

“I missed you, you know?” Laura says into his lips. Niall doesn’t say it back, he slides his hand into her hair instead and draws her closer, pulling her that final inch so he can kiss her properly. 

It’s not as frantic as before and he settles into it, lets her kiss him, one hand to his cheek. He didn’t think he’d get hard this fast but he’s too eager for it. Laura sighs against his lips, tongue darting out to lick over them. It makes him laugh, soft and startled.

She’s more responsive this way, rocking against him with her knees tucked in tight to his waist. The hem of her robe tickles at his knee where it brushes against his skin. He pushes it open, settles his hand on her side, just by her ribs. 

This hadn’t been part of his plan for tonight -- having sex with Laura once, nevermind twice. 

She sighs against him and Niall doesn’t have to move, he just watches the way her mouth drops open on a low moan, how her eyes flutter shut. He rocks his hips up into her, listening to how her breathing changes. She holds onto his shoulders, her hair falling round her face as she clenches around him. She kisses him clumsily, her mouth wet against his. It’s a perfect distraction from where she’s still rolling her hips against him, slower this time and there’s something bright swelling inside him, something warm. Niall catches her eye and sees how she looks at him, appraises him. She gives him a soft smile, her lips red and swollen. It turns cheeky and he laughs. He doesn’t want this to end, it feels too much like love. She squeezes around him again, breathes shakily out against his chin and Niall finds that he’s coming into her again entirely unexpectedly.

He spares a brief thought that they didn’t use a condom as Laura pulls gently off him. She flops onto her side, the robe twisting around her so she’s still lying completely naked beside him, stretched out across the sofa. He should shower but it’s easy to drop down beside her, fit into the space she’s left him. Her skin is still hot as he presses up against her, her lips soft. He lets out a breath and sinks into her chest, finally, finally falling asleep.

*

Of them all, Laura’s is his favourite shower. It’s got that oceany shower gel of Bressie’s and plenty of blond toner shampoo to lather through his hair. He can drag gritty orange exfoliating wash over his arms and put fancy conditioner in his hair that smells like Eoghan’s sheets. 

The towels are fluffy and clean and he can shove his feet into her pink slippers, heel hanging over the edge of the back of them because they’re three sizes too small. 

The hallway is cold after the warm steam of the bathroom when he steps out but he can smell toast and hear the chatter of Holly Willoughby on the telly. 

“Where is he?” comes a voice and Niall grins to himself, drags the towel through his damp hair and instead of heading towards the bedroom he turns back on himself towards the kitchen. 

“Yeah, in the shower,” Laura answers. She’s beside the cooker, throwing three teabags into the pot. Bressie’s behind her, a hand on her shoulder. Niall stops just at the door, stilling himself he doesn’t make any noise to watch them together. 

“Oh,” Bressie says, laughs a bit. Niall watches as he pushes some of Laura’s hair out of the way to expose a spot on her neck. He rubs a thumb over the red mark there, Niall feels warm at the sound she makes when he puts pressure to it. “Had a little welcome home party did we?” 

Something in Niall settles at the word _home_. He thinks in another world he would’ve bricked it at Bressie catching on so quick -- he has just had sex with his girlfriend -- but he doesn’t even feel slightly sick, just feels a grin growing on his face instead. 

Laura laughs and snaps the teapot shut with a tin clang and slides it onto the stove. Niall can see the way she rocks back on her heels, leans into the breadth of Bressie’s chest. Bressie lets his hand drop around her chest, hugs her to his front. She sighs, shoulders dropping and turns around to nose at the underside of his jaw. 

Bressie looks massive beside her when she’s in her bare feet. Niall always forgets how short she is when she’s not in six inch heels, she’s just shorter than him like this too. 

“Not a party without you,” Niall says, breaking his silence and Laura jumps at the sound of his voice. Bressie doesn’t budge and Niall wonders how long he knew he’s been standing there for. 

“Ah, there he is,” Bressie says, voice already dropping low. Niall grins at him but stays beside the door, he’s not sure if he wants to interrupt them like this -- he rarely gets to see it. Just them.

They pull apart anyway, Laura with a small knowing smile as she turns back to the tea. Bressie holds his arm out and Niall shuffles across the tiles to be pulled into his embrace. He’s still in his towel and Bressie’s hand skims down his spine ever so slowly. It pauses at the base of his back, his little finger dipping into the gap where his towel has came loose. Niall lets out a breath against Bressie’s chest, rubs his nose on the softness of his t-shirt. 

The shift between them seems monumental and so subtle at the same time. Niall wonders if they need to discuss this more, considering they’ve barely talked about it at all. 

“I should get dressed,” Niall mutters, forcing himself to take a step back. 

Bressie gives him a grin. “Should you?”

He shouldn’t. He doesn’t _want_ to. It feels like he could just drop his towel right here and be naked in front of them. Bare all for them both. 

He twists his fingers in the towel, takes in the matching grins both Bressie and Laura are sending him. He’s growing warm, that flustered feeling clamming up his throat. “I’ll just go --” 

Bressie laughs and Laura swats him playfully on the arm. “Breakfast?” she says, firmly taking the heat off Niall with a slight grin. 

“Yeah,” Bressie and Niall answer together and Niall’s stomach relaxes, gives out just like that. Bressie sends him another smile before Niall turns and heads back towards Laura’s bedroom.

It had taken them a while last night but, eventually, they had ended up sprawled across her mattress. Too tired to talk more than wish each other goodnight. Niall had curled up behind Laura, pulled her close and listened as she fell asleep before he even gave into the jetlag hanging over him. It was nice. 

The sheets are still rumpled, a dip in the middle where they had been. He’s thankful he managed to at least grab his clothes before they passed out as he pulls on his boxers from yesterday. 

He waits until Eoghan gets there to even broach the subject. Bressie makes a few more remarks about Niall and Laura but they’re delivered with a soft smile that makes Niall want to blush rather than squirm. 

“Fucking flight was delayed,” Eoghan says in lieu of a greeting as he lets himself in. He’s still in his coat, all wrapped up from the rain as he drops a kiss onto Laura’s forehead, brushes his lips across Bressie’s cheek. 

He stops in front of Niall, mouth growing into a grin before he hunkers down in front of him. Niall’s sitting on the sofa, the same place where he and Laura had had sex last night and failing to look like he’s forgotten that bit. Laura keeps grinning slyly over at him, Niall’s t-shirt from last night the only thing she’s wearing. 

“And look who is finally here,” Eoghan says, unwinding his scarf slowly from his neck. 

Niall smiles at him. “Hiya.” 

Eoghan laughs, leaning forward until he can rest his hands on Niall’s knees. He knows that Laura and Bressie are watching. He would be too if it was any of the rest of them. This is different though, this is the first time Niall’s kissed any of them with an audience and the knowledge thrums through him. He needn’t have worried, he wasn’t imagining how this was panning out. 

“Hi,” Eoghan says unusually softly before he pushes in to kiss Niall. He’s had a coffee since the airport, Niall can taste it on his mouth as he kisses him properly. Eoghan’s hand squeezes around his knee, thumb pressing into the spot that used to give him most trouble. Niall groans, opens his mouth wider to push his tongue against Eoghan’s, lets his knees fall apart. Someone makes a noise to his left but he doesn’t take it in, can’t interpret it properly because Eoghan’s shuffling forward until he’s between Niall’s thighs, kissing him until he’s going to lose his breath. 

Niall forgets they were even there until a hand lands on his shoulder, dragging them apart. Eoghan rears back until he’s sitting on his heels. He stays where he is between Niall’s legs and it feels suddenly much more warmer in the room. Eoghan grins up at him, mouth redder than before. 

“Brez is feeling left out,” Laura says and Niall looks to the side. He isn’t sure how he’s feeling that, given that Laura’s spread out across his lap, leaning across the arm of the sofa to reach Niall. Her legs look long and smooth, the shirt she’s been wearing all morning gaping down so Niall can see the swell of her breasts. Bressie has a hand on her hip, dragging the material up her smooth back so they can see where her knickers are slipping too. 

“Fuck,” Niall breathes and he can‘t help himself. “Why?” 

They all laugh, all three of them and it makes him feel jittery for a split second, unsettled until Laura squeezes her fingers around his arm and gives him a soft smile. 

“Hasn’t kissed you yet, has he?” she asks, tipping her head to the side so her hair falls like a curtain. It glows in the afternoon light coming through the living room window. If Niall squinted, he’d see the finger marks from last night. 

They haven’t kissed. They’ve nearly -- those few moments that feel so long ago. He’s kissed the others already, it coming easy when they do and the knowledge that Bressie must’ve told Laura that they haven’t settles somewhere deep in his chest. It makes him nervous, the way Bressie is still lying across the other end of the sofa. He looks so far away, Laura in his lap blocking them. 

Eoghan gives him a pat on the calf and when Niall swings his head around he can see his encouraging smile. Laura’s smiling at him too and he never realised they do that a lot. They’re all constantly smiling at each other. 

Niall takes a breath, twists himself in his seat so he’s facing Bressie properly. Laura gives a little giggle, topples off him. The shirt is all twisted but she doesn’t bother to fix it. Niall can see the black lace of her knickers, the smooth pale of the inside of her thigh. Eoghan crawls over to her and she grins, kissing him easily. 

“Hi,” Laura whispers to him, rubbing a thumb over his lip. Niall’s just kissed him there and Niall wonders for a moment if she can taste him on his mouth. 

It feels better to pretend that they aren’t watching, to take the pressure off as Niall edges closer to him. Bressie sits up, holds out a welcoming arm but his face is blank, smoothed neutral so Niall can’t see how much he wants it… or how much he doesn’t. 

Niall’s stomach twists and there’s that too-warm heat radiating up his spine. He thinks he should say something but when he opens his mouth he doesn’t have time to get any words out because Bressie’s already there. 

His lips are soft against Niall’s mouth, tongue wet and a firm pressure against Niall’s. He doesn’t wait about, kissing him hard and his hand coming up to cup at Niall’s jaw. He hears Laura squawk out a whoop and Eoghan’s responding laugh but he doesn’t care because Bressie is doing his best to outkiss the both of them. 

Niall moans into his mouth, settles easily astride one of his thighs. He’s still in his jeans, too well dressed considering Niall’s in his boxers. The denim is warm but rough against his thighs as Niall shuffles closer, slotting their hips together. He feels good against Niall’s front, his broad chest, the stretch in Niall’s legs as he pushes his knees around his waist.

Now he’s started kissing him, he doesn’t want to stop. It’s like he can’t, his mouth following Bressie’s whenever he pulls off to breathe, his lips catching on the stubble of his chin, teeth dragging on his bottom lip. It’s not like he had been expecting, it’s softer and gentler and much more all encompassing than he had imagined.

Bressie laughs, a low rumble that Niall feels against his chest. He pulls away wetly and Niall misses the heat of his mouth already. “Worth the wait,” Bressie says against his cupid’s bow. 

Niall flushes and sits back, forces himself to press his back against the cool leather of Laura’s sofa. It opens him up, exposes how turned on he is but he doesn’t care if they can make out the shape of his hardening dick in his boxers. Laura and Eoghan are both on the floor still, Eoghan’s finally lost his coat, his shirt looking a bit rumpled like Laura’s been trying to rid him off it. Both of them smile up at him and there’s no guilt there, nothing making him want to hide his face with embarrassment. 

“We should talk about this?” Niall says. He’s still out of breath and he sneaks a glance at Bressie, just to see how his chest rises and falls heavily too. He smiles at him and Bressie returns it like a beam. 

“If you want,” Laura says easily. Her hand is tangled in Eoghan’s collar, her mouth close to his jaw. Niall wants to watch them together, wants to be between them, wants them both. It’s just a touch confusing before he reminds himself that that could probably be arranged. 

“Yeah,” Niall breathes and suddenly he’s not sure what to say. He wants to tell them much he wants them. How much they mean to him. How much he _loves_ them. It feels strange to be contemplating saying that _out loud_. 

He doesn’t say anything for a moment and then Bressie grips his wrist, tugging him closer to his body again. “How about we talk to you?”

Niall nods, a jerky duck of his head. He fits easily into Bressie’s side, Niall’s shoulder sliding under his arm. “So?” Niall starts off because the three of them are still looking at him expectantly. 

Laura grins at him, her face softening. “We really like you. Shall we start there?”

Eoghan and Bressie nod and they all exchange a few glances. Niall’s starting to feel torn between being uncomfortable and endeared. He’s getting the feeling that they’ve all had this discussion without him already. But he sort of likes it, likes that they’ve been thinking about him maybe as much as he has about them. 

“We do,” Eoghan agrees. “Have for a while now. I think you round us all out nicely.”

“It feels nicer when you’re about,” Laura continues on. She leans closer, drops her voice like she’s letting Niall in on a secret. “Always laughing about something, fitting in between us like glue. We miss you when you’re gone.”

“Worry about you too,” Bressie says quietly. He looks away for a moment, like he’s giving away something he doesn’t quite want to admit. “Always wondering if you’re ok. Wherever you are in the world at that one moment. All the time.”

“Our Niall,” Laura says just as quiet and she reaches across to thumb across Niall’s slack mouth. 

It’s more than he expected. And a little bit overwhelming if he’s being honest with himself. He glances between them, takes in how soft Bressie’s expression is, how Eoghan is smiling at him just a hint cheekily. Laura’s still cupping his jaw and it seems easy -- seems right -- to just turn his head and press his lips to the middle of his palm. 

She grins at him, slumping forward so she can kiss him properly. She’s half climbing into his lap and Niall goes with it, lets her push him back into the cushions while he tries and gathers his thoughts. 

“We’re talking,” Eoghan whines and Niall feels his fingers brush against his skin as he grabs Laura to drag her away. She laughs, breathless against Niall’s face before she flops down beside him, her leg slung over Niall’s knee. 

“Niall’s turn,” Bressie says quickly and then goes back to picking at the inseam of his trousers. He looks nervous and it’s been a long time since Niall’s seen that. Bressie always seems so well put together, so big and broad and wise. It panics him slightly that Bressie could be nervous about this. 

Because there’s nothing to be nervous about. 

Niall grins at the realisation, stares at Bressie until he glances up and meets Niall’s eyes. 

“I miss you too,” he tells him and then flicks his eyes over to Laura and Eoghan. “Being here --” he waves around at Laura’s living room. “Being with you feels like --”

He takes a breath. His chest feels tight, the enormity of what he’s saying finally catching up. He thinks back to Harry in the bath. It was easy to work out what he was feeling then. When he wasn’t with them and he could easily pinpoint that something was wrong. 

“Home.”

He lets out another deep breath but Bressie’s smiling at him, his cheeks a bit pink and eyes squinting. He feels solid when he pulls Niall into a hug, something firm to press his hot face to. “Home sounds good, Chief.”

Laura joins them, Eoghan fitting into the gap she’s left him. “Welcome home,” he whispers, pushing his head past Laura’s to kiss his chin -- the only place he can easily reach. Niall gasps, drops his jaw to try and kiss him back. 

Eoghan’s hand settles on Niall’s thigh, pressed high enough that he could slip the pads of his fingers under the hem of his boxers. “Can we get to the sexy bit now?” 

Niall lets out a laugh and Laura’s already nodding, curling into Bressie’s chest. She lifts her chin, going to kiss him. Niall watches for a moment, he’s got a front row seat for the slow brush of Bressie’s nose against her cheek before they finally kiss. 

Laura sighs quietly, lifts her leg to hook it over Bressie’s knee. Eoghan kneels up, reaches across to splay his palm against the back of her thigh. His other hand goes to Niall’s knee, a heavy weight against his kneecap. His thumb brushes over it, steady and sure.

There’s nerves thrumming in Niall now. They ricochet up from Eoghan’s touch, bounce from where he’s tucked into Bressie’s ribs. This is certainly uncharted territory for him and he takes a moment to regulate his breathing, drinking in how the three of them move together. 

He’s pressed so close to Bressie that he’s not surprised it takes them a moment to realise that he’s there but not actually involved, a fourth person attached to their already familiar trifecta. 

“Hey,” Bressie says softly, pulling away from Laura to lean in to kiss him again. Niall smiles into it, lets himself grow accustomed to the way Bressie kisses him thoroughly, tongue sweeping into his mouth like it was made to.

“I’ve never had a foursome,” Niall says once he pulls away and gives him a look that makes Niall want to turn inside out for, blurt all his innermost thoughts. 

Laura giggles from where she’s sprawled over Bressie’s other side. She’s so close that he could kiss her from here, easily push a hand into her messy hair and suck on her tongue. 

“Neither have we,” Eoghan says lightly, his hand squeezing around his knee cap. He definitely doesn’t look as nervous as Niall feels but he smiles reassuringly at him and it tamps down some of Niall’s nerves. Niall thinks he should clarify -- he’s never had an audience or even a third person in the room. Niall normally feels a bit iffy with someone else in the same _house_. 

“You could,” Laura says quietly, pushing her head across Bressie’s chest until she’s very close to him. Niall thinks of last night, how it felt to have his hands on her hot skin. She has a hand settled low on Bressie’s stomach now, Niall wonders what she‘ll do with it. “Just watch?” 

“Oh fuck,” Bressie says and when Niall glances up he sees how he’s staring up at the ceiling, tongue rubbing wetly over the corner of his mouth. Niall groans softly at the sight, flush working quickly up onto his cheeks. He isn’t sure if he could just sit and watch. He wants to _touch_. 

Eoghan hums from his spot on his knees, “I’m sure we can work it all out.” 

Niall swings his head around to watch as Eoghan slides his hand up Niall’s thigh, his other still pressed against the bare skin of Laura’s leg. The back of the sofa makes a soft noise as Bressie turns to watch too, Laura sighing out beside him. 

It feels strange to have so many sets of eyes on him during things like this. Normally it’s only one pair and they’re easily distracted. Niall’s not sure if he can distract three people all at once. 

It makes him hyperaware of Bressie and Laura beside him, her hand edging closer to Bressie’s waistband and of Eoghan on his knees in front of him. Niall sits up, juts his chin out in invitation and Eoghan is pushing up to kiss him without a word.

The movement spurs Laura into action too, making quick work of Bressie’s belt. Niall can hear the clink of it as it unbuckles and the sound of his zip over the thud of his heartbeat in his ears. Eoghan breaks away to kiss down his jaw and Niall sighs, turns his face to the side to give him more room. The scrape of his stubble feels nice, a rough burn across his collarbone. It’s abrasive everywhere Laura was soft. 

It distracts him long enough that when he opens his eyes he can see that Laura’s already got Bressie’s dick in her hand, slender fingers wrapped around the width of him. It makes him choke on his breath and Laura laughs, her mouth open on Bressie’s jaw. 

“C’mere,” Laura says, reaching for his free hand. He’s not really been doing much with them, there’s one pressed to the hot skin at the side of Eoghan’s neck, holding him close to his jaw but the other one had been just settled by his own hip. 

Laura’s hands are warm and she tugs on his fingers until he catches on and wraps his hand around Bressie’s dick. Bressie swears softly, his head still thrown back against the back of the sofa as Niall tugs him off. 

It’s overwhelming when he thinks about it all together -- a blur of too many hands and mouths moving around him but when he focuses on each little bit he revels in it. Bressie is a hot, fat weight in his hand, his skin warm when he presses his lips to the side of his neck. Eoghan’s mouth is wicked as he trails it further down his belly, his fingers tugging his boxers away so Niall’s dick can push up against his open palm. Laura’s mouth fitting over the tip of Bressie’s dick, her lips wet when Niall’s fingers brush against them with every bob of her head. 

“Uh,” Niall says, hardly coherent as Eoghan licks over his dick, sucking him into his mouth. Bressie kisses him then, his hand spanning the entire side of his face as he tugs him closer. 

“Don’t be so quiet,” Bressie says to him when he pulls apart, his voice raking over the words. Niall shivers, rolls his hips up into the hot heat of Eoghan’s mouth. “I’ve heard you come, I know there’s more in you.”

Niall groans, he can’t help it as Eoghan pulls off to laugh into the crease of Niall’s thigh. 

“I knew you were with him,” Niall says, his face flushing at the memory of Eoghan getting him off over the phone to him. Eoghan laughs up at Bressie, kneeling to his full height so he can kiss him. The two of them lack the softness that he’s seen when either of them kiss Laura, something more raw trading between them as they kiss. Niall breathes out, cups his hand around his own dick. It feels like he could come already, the excitement of them all in the same room making him want to grind into his palm and nut across his stomach. 

He catches Laura’s pout from below their chins and he reaches for her. They’re becoming properly tangled now, arms and legs slung everywhere. It shouldn’t work but Laura grins at him, her face lighting up as she shoves herself between Bressie and Eoghan to lie out ontop of him, spreading him across the sofa cushions. 

“You should do a conference call next time,” she tells him quietly, ducking in to kiss him so he can’t retort. His skin burns at the knowledge that they had told her, maybe they’d even got her off to it. 

He grunts, pulls her closer and finally gets her out of her knickers. Bressie skims a hand across her ribs and reaches for Eoghan again, meeting him with a kiss over Niall’s knees.

Eoghan’s hand is still lingering on his thigh, his touch light as his concentration is focused elsewhere. Niall presses up into it, urging him to move and touch him. 

Laura sighs against his lips, rolling her hips down against Niall’s thigh. He can feel how wet she’s getting, a familiar heat when she sets herself down properly against his bare skin. 

Eoghan finally turns back to him. His mouth, hot and red, sucks a mark against the soft skin of Laura’s arse cheek before he shifts his attention again, mouthing across Niall’s inner thigh to his balls. Laura rolls against Niall's leg with a gasp, her reaction wanton. 

“Christ,” Niall breathes, hips jerking up again. Laura moans against him and then she’s falling away, Bressie’s hand around her waist as he tugs her back over to him. 

“Missed you,” he mumbles against the side of her face, his hand sliding down over her stomach to play with her clit. She gasps and Niall watches for a moment as she pulls up her feet, spreading her thighs so Niall can see every single way Bressie rubs and rolls at her. Niall sighs, wishes he could put his mouth to her. 

Her breath hitches, audible now that they’re all pressed so close. She lifts a hand, drags the fabric of her -- his -- shirt up until she can play with her own tits. Niall’s mesmerised, staring as she starts to knead them -- tries to commit all the things she likes to memory but Eoghan breathes out against the shiny head of Niall’s dick, making his mind go blank, before he sucks him down. 

Niall gasps and doesn’t know where to look -- at the soft, round ‘o’ of Laura’s mouth or down where Eoghan’s hollowing his cheeks, his hands brushing down the coarse hair at the top of Niall’s thighs. He closes his eyes instead, letting himself get lost in the thundering of his heart in his ears and the feeling of Eoghan’s hands as they stray, pushing his thighs apart so he can rub at his perineum. Niall lifts a knee to open himself out further, brushing up against the strong muscle of Bressie’s thigh. 

“Ah, fuck me,” Niall says without thinking, arching so Eoghan’s fingers rub against his hole. It’s been so long since he’s had anyone inside him and he can think of no one better. 

Eoghan pulls off to breathe and Niall nearly misses the way he sucks his fingers into his mouth, getting them nice and wet before he goes back to nurse the head of Niall’s dick with his tongue. He’s not going to last. 

“Niall,” Laura whimpers softly to his side but when Niall turns, he can see that she’s talking to Bressie, her hand wrapped around his wrist to still him. Bressie’s got his mouth set to her shoulder but his eyes are straying over the length of Niall’s body. Laura looks shaky, her thigh twitching. 

When Eoghan’s fingers rub over him again, it’s deliberate. Niall groans, ducking his head to the side until he could nearly press his face into Bressie’s shoulder. He smells warm with sweat. Bressie’s gone tense beside him, his hand paused at Laura’s hip. 

“Bressie is an old soul,” Laura stage whispers to him but the effect is mostly lost with the way she’s out of breath. Her voice is rough and Niall wonders how on earth he’s missed her coming. “He doesn’t like to fuck unless he’s in a bed.”

Niall laughs brightly, his mind sliding back to how he and Laura had hardly made it to a bed the night before. He’s not too worried where he gets fucked. He groans again, clenches his muscles against where Eoghan still has a wet finger. 

“I just think,” Bressie says and it’s mock stern, his smile breaking through his serious expression. “I just think if Niall’s going to do it, we should be in a bed. Y‘know, for the first --”

“Such a romantic,” Eoghan mumbles, pulling away and clearing his throat roughly. “Don’t take it personally, Bressie has some interesting sex-etiquette rules. You’ll get used to it.”

“That’s," Niall says, laughing breathlessly. "Fine." He isn’t sure how they are all so chatty, it feels like Niall’s losing his mind. He can hardly string a sentence together. 

Bressie reaches forward then, his knuckles brushing gently against Eoghan’s cheek before he curls it tightly around Niall’s dick. It’s nearly uncomfortable -- they’re pressed that close. He can feel Laura’s leg pressed against his thigh and Eoghan’s leaning on his knee so he can kiss up her thigh. She smiles at him, her hand coming up to cradle at his chin. Bressie gives him another slow tug and Niall’s sure his stomach has turned molten, that Bressie’s going to milk it straight out through his dick. “I’m gonna come now, anyway.”

Niall says it so matter of fact that it makes Bressie smile at him, eyes crinkling at the edges. Niall catches them just as his vision starts to blur out and then he’s coming all over Bressie’s tight fist. 

Laura somehow finds his hand and gives it a squeeze. 

“Shame,” Eoghan murmurs, his mouth quirking up into a grin. “Can I fuck you then?” he asks Laura. 

Laura laughs, nodding her head. “Think Niall’d be ready to go in a minute anyway.”

Bressie lets out a loud laugh, dragging his arm away from Laura so she can shuffle off onto the floor with Eoghan. Niall’s side feels cold with the loss of them but it’s nice when he hears Laura’s soft moan as Eoghan fucks into her. 

“They can fuck on the floor but I need a bed?” Niall asks once he’s found his voice again.

Bressie laughs again, his eyes crinkling as he reaches for him. Niall goes easily -- his limbs lax as he climbs into Bressie’s lap. Bressie’s hands are warm and sure against him. It makes Niall shiver, Bressie's thumbs pressing into his hips to steady him. 

Bressie’s breathing deeply below him, his chest expanding. His eyes still wide and searching. Niall stares back, feels like he’s Bressie’s staring right into him. 

“I’ll take care of you,” Niall tells him and it comes out more sincere than he initially means. Bressie’s eyes widen and Niall swallows, his mouth dry. “I will.” Niall repeats himself and he can see how Bressie understands. He’ll try and take care of him in any way he can. But right now, he means he’ll take care of Bressie where he’s hard against Niall’s groin. Bressie snuffs out a breath through his nose as Niall presses forward for a kiss. It feels like ages since he’s got one. 

"We will too," Bressie promises him, taking a moment before kissing him eagerly. Niall's chest feels tight but he sinks into the kiss as Bressie reaches down to squeeze around his own dick. Niall wants to pull away to watch, to learn all of Bressie’s tricks but he doesn’t want to stop kissing him either. 

Somewhere behind him, Eoghan’s groaning, just like Niall remembers it over the phone. Bressie sucks Niall's tongue into his mouth, tangles their fingers together when Niall reaches down to help pull him off. 

It doesn't feel like enough, Niall wants to touch him more but there's just enough time for Niall to feel him tense just before Bressie comes, his body going rigid under Niall's shaking thighs. Niall stretches them, rolls his hips again as Bressie sloppily tries to kiss him back. And it’s a fleeting thought -- what it would feel like if Bressie was coming inside him instead -- but it makes Niall rub his arse against Bressie’s thigh, glancing down to watch as Bressie's dick kicks in his and Bressie’s hand and Bressie finally comes. 

“We’ll try it in a bed next time,” Eoghan says as he crawls back onto the sofa, curling his arm around Laura. Bressie hums, kisses Niall’s bottom lip before sliding him off into the middle. Laura's skin is hot when they curl together, sandwiched between Eoghan and Bressie. Niall's still buzzing, his skin tingling and his chest tight but Laura shifts, her knee brushing against his thigh and it feels more settled, all of a sudden. 

“A bed sounds nice.”

***

 _“Tea!”_

“Alright!” Niall shouts back over his shoulder. He drags the side of Laura’s dressing gown around him. It barely covers his arse but he doesn’t know what he was expecting -- it barely covers _hers_ either. He’s not sure how it got here, he’s not sure how half of their stuff has slowly matriculated into his house over the past few weeks they've been giving this a go. He can hear Laura laugh in response, far too bright for this time of the morning but the rest of her conversation with Eoghan and Bressie is a low murmur this far away from the bedroom. 

The kettle seems to take forever, Niall’s toes growing numb on the tiled floor as he waits for it to boil. He makes it in the cup, popping four teabags in the row of mugs. Two sugars for Eoghan, Laura’s in the lilac mug she always uses when she‘s here. He hesitates when pouring the water into Bressie’s -- he’ll know he was lazy and didn’t make it in the pot. He weighs up the pros and cons of taking the time to make it in a pot like he knows he should but it would require a whole extra few minutes spent in the kitchen rather than in bed so pours the water into Bressie’s mug anyway. 

He thinks about making toast but he doesn’t want the crumbs in his bed so he balances the tea -- two cups in each hand -- and climbs the stairs again. 

Their voices filter slowly through his hallway, making him smile as he pads down the corridor. He kicks the door open to his bedroom and takes in the mess. There’s clothes strewn across the floor, his curtains still mostly closed. Laura’d brought an entire suitcase a few days ago when he’d gotten back from recording the final touches on the album and it’s still sitting mostly full underneath the window. It’s bright outside, summery Sunday sunshine filtering through the gap where they didn’t close them properly last night. 

“Thank God,” Eoghan says loudly once he appears at the foot of the bed. Eoghan eyes him sleepily, his eyes bloodshot. He looks the worst of them all, his hair bedraggled and stuck up at the back. Compared to him, Bressie looks hardly hungover. They’re still tangled together, Laura wrapped up in a wrinkled sheet between them. It slips a bit and Niall catches the pink of one of her nipples. Niall's glad he'd got such a big bed.

“No toast?” she asks, reaching out for a mug. He smiles at her as she takes the lilac one, Bressie reaching for the other. Niall sets his own mug on the cluttered bedside table, nudging aside Bressie’s heavy, expensive watch. It’s half tangled in Laura’s necklace, the delicate chain twisted in a knot from where Niall had flung it last night. 

“He wouldn’t want the crumbs,” Bressie mutters and Niall grins, catching his eye. He knows him too well. He climbs over him easily, Bressie’s warm hand coming up to steady his hip as he crouches and sways in his spot between him and Laura. 

“Ah, ah,” Laura tuts, raising her free hand to push at the silk of her own dressing gown. It’s at the top of a long list of her clothes that has ended up in his bedroom over the past few weeks. “No clothes in bed.”

Niall laughs, shrugs out of the gown and drops it over the end of the bed. He has an itch to tidy up her stuff but he knows it would just get messy again. 

Eoghan giggles, hands wrapped around his mug as he settles back into the pillow. “Pants too.”

“I think you’re still drunk Mr McDermott,” Laura chastises him, rolling further into his side. He gasps a bit, eyes fluttering shut and Niall isn’t sure what she’s doing underneath the sheet. Bressie’s fingers hook into the waistband of his boxers, helping him out of them and the way his eyes rake down Niall’s body makes him want to blush. 

“What’s the plans for today then?” Niall asks as he squeezes in beside them. Laura shuffles a bit, lends him some of the sheet to sling over his lap as Bressie hands him his tea. It’s still too hot, so he blows on it, watching from the corner of his eye as Bressie watches him purse his lips. 

“Fancy making dinner?” Eoghan asks Laura, who snorts at the question, sipping her tea instead of granting him an answer. 

“We could go for a roast?” Bressie suggests, rolling onto his side. He smells of warm skin and Eoghan’s cologne. Niall wants to taste it. It’s still a novelty that he can, that he doesn’t have to fight the urge leaning in to press his lips against the hollow of his throat, just where his chest starts to grow hairy. Bressie lets out a quiet sound, his free hand coming up to thread into the hair at the side of Niall’s head. It’s warm from being wrapped around his mug.

“Hit a pub?” Eoghan continues on as if Niall hasn‘t instigated a second round of kisses. Bressie pulls a face that Niall only catches because he's pressed so close. “Go for a Sunday session? I‘ll have one of them fruity ciders that Bressie pretends not to like and then I should be fit for it.”

Niall licks across Bressie’s collarbone, listening to the soft sound he makes at the back of his throat. He’s too distracted to bicker back to Eoghan. Thin, delicate fingertips brush across Niall’s bum and he jerks a bit, nearly splashes tea across his white sheets. 

“Maybe we should stay home?” Laura suggests and Niall smiles, lets his eyes flutter closed. 

_Home._


End file.
